Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson |
21 |
13 | I. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
1 | V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
1 | XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
1 | XLII. |
XLIII. |
XLIV. |
XLV. |
XLVI. |
XLVII. |
XLVIII. |
XLIX. |
L. |
LI. |
LII. |
1 | LIII. |
1 | LIV. |
LV. |
LVI. |
LVII. |
LVIII. |
LIX. |
LX. |
LXI. |
1 | LXII. |
LXIII. |
LXIV. |
LXV. |
LXVI. |
LXVII. |
LXVIII. |
LXIX. |
LXX. |
LXXI. |
LXXII. |
2 | LXXIII. |
LXXIV. |
LXXV. |
LXXVI. |
LXXVII. |
LXXVIII. |
LXXIX. |
LXXX. |
LXXXI. |
1 | LXXXII. |
LXXXIII. |
LXXXIV. |
LXXXV. |
LXXXVI. |
LXXXVII. |
LXXXVIII. |
LXXXIX. |
XC. |
XCI. |
XCII. |
XCIII. |
XCIV. |
XCV. |
XCVI. |
XCVII. |
3 | XCVIII. |
XCIX. |
C. |
1 | CI. |
CII. |
CIII. |
CIV. |
II. |
4 | III. |
IV. |
2 | V. |
VI. |
2 | VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||
CXCIII
[So vnwarely was never no man cawght]
So vnwarely was never no man cawght
With stedefast loke apon a goodly face,
As I of late; for sodenly me thowght
My hart was torne owte of hys place.
With stedefast loke apon a goodly face,
As I of late; for sodenly me thowght
My hart was torne owte of hys place.
Thorow myn Iye the strock frome hyrs dyd slyde,
Dyrectly downe vnto my hert ytt ranne;
In helpe wherof the blood therto dyd glyde,
And left my face both pale and wanne.
Dyrectly downe vnto my hert ytt ranne;
In helpe wherof the blood therto dyd glyde,
And left my face both pale and wanne.
203
Then was I leke a manne for woo amasyd,
Or leke the byrde that flyeth in to the fyer;
For whyll that I vpon her beaulte gasyd
The more I burnt in my desyre.
Or leke the byrde that flyeth in to the fyer;
For whyll that I vpon her beaulte gasyd
The more I burnt in my desyre.
Anon the blowd stert in my face agayne,
Enflamde with hete that yt had att my hart,
And browght therwith thorowt in euery vayne
A quakyng hete with plesaunt smert.
Enflamde with hete that yt had att my hart,
And browght therwith thorowt in euery vayne
A quakyng hete with plesaunt smert.
Then was I leke the strawe whan that the flame
Ys drevyn therin by force and rage off wynd;
I can nott tell, alas, what I shall blame,
Nor what to seke, nor what to fynd.
Ys drevyn therin by force and rage off wynd;
I can nott tell, alas, what I shall blame,
Nor what to seke, nor what to fynd.
But wele I wote the greffe holdes me so sore
In hete and cold betwyxt hope and drede,
That but her helpe to helth doth me restore
Thys restles lyff I may nott lede.
In hete and cold betwyxt hope and drede,
That but her helpe to helth doth me restore
Thys restles lyff I may nott lede.
Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||