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. |
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| 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. |
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| 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. |
| CV. |
| CVI. |
| CVII. |
| 4 | | III. |
| 4 | | CVIII. |
| 1 |
| 1 |
| 2 |
| IV. |
| CIX. |
| CX. |
| CXI. |
| CXII. |
| CXIII. |
| CXIV. |
| CXV. |
| CXVI. |
| CXVII. |
| CXVIII. |
| CXIX. |
| CXX. |
| CXXI. |
| CXXII. |
| CXXIII. |
| CXXIV. |
| CXXV. |
| CXXVI. |
| CXXVII. |
| CXXVIII. |
| CXXIX. |
| CXXX. |
| CXXXI. |
| CXXXII. |
| CXXXIII. |
| CXXXIV. |
| CXXXV. |
| CXXXVI. |
| CXXXVII. |
| CXXXVIII. |
| CXXXIX. |
| CXL. |
| CXLI. |
| CXLII. |
| CXLIII. |
| CXLIV. |
| CXLV. |
| CXLVI. |
| CXLVII. |
| CXLVIII. |
| CXLIX. |
| CL. |
| CLI. |
| CLII. |
| CLIII. |
| CLIV. |
| CLV. |
| CLVI. |
| CLVII. |
| CLVIII. |
| CLIX. |
| CLX. |
| CLXI. |
| CLXII. |
| CLXIII. |
| CLXIV. |
| CLXV. |
| CLXVI. |
| CLXVII. |
| CLXVIII. |
| CLXIX. |
| CLXX. |
| CLXXI. |
| CLXXII. |
| CLXXIII. |
| CLXXIV. |
| CLXXV. |
| CLXXVI. |
| CLXXVII. |
| 2 | | V. |
| CLXXVIII. |
| CLXXIX. |
| 1 | CLXXX. |
| CLXXXI. |
| CLXXXII. |
| CLXXXIII. |
| CLXXXIV. |
| CLXXXV. |
| CLXXXVI. |
| CLXXXVII. |
| CLXXXVIII. |
| CLXXXIX. |
| CXC. |
| CXCI. |
| CXCII. |
| CXCIII. |
| CXCIV. |
| CXCV. |
| CXCVI. |
| CXCVII. |
| CXCVIII. |
| CXCIX. |
| CC. |
| CCI. |
| CCII. |
| CCIII. |
| CCIV. |
| CCV. |
| CCVI. |
| CCVII. |
| CCVIII. |
| 1 | CCIX. |
| CCX. |
| CCXI. |
| CCXII. |
| CCXIII. |
| CCXIV. |
| CCXV. |
| CCXVI. |
| CCXVII. |
| CCXVIII. |
| CCXIX. |
| CCXX. |
| CCXXI. |
| CCXXII. |
| CCXXIII. |
| CCXXIV. |
| CCXXV. |
| CCXXVI. |
| CCXXVII. |
| CCXXVIII. |
| CCXXIX. |
| CCXXX. |
| CCXXXI. |
| CCXXXII. |
| CCXXXIII. |
| VI. |
| CCXXXIV. |
| CCXXXV. |
| CCXXXVI. |
| CCXXXVII. |
| CCXXXVIII. | CCXXXVIII
|
| CCXXXIX. |
| CCXL. |
| 2 | | VII. |
| CCXLI. |
| CCXLII. |
| 2 | CCXLIII. |
| CCXLIV. |
| CCXLV. |
| CCXLVI. |
| VIII. |
| CCXLVII. |
| CCXLVIII. |
| CCXLIX. |
| CCL. |
| CCLI. |
| CCLII. |
| CCLIII. |
| CCLIV. |
| CCLV. |
| CCLVI. |
| CCLVII. |
| CCLVIII. |
| CCLIX. |
| CCLX. |
| CCLXI. |
| IX. |
| CCLXII. |
| CCLXIII. |
| CCLXIV. |
| CCLXV. |
| CCLXVI. |
| CCLXVII. |
| CCLXVIII. |
 | Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt |  |
CCXXXVIII
[The flaming Sighes that boile within my brest]
The flaming Sighes that boile within my brestSomtyme brake forthe and they can well declare
The hartes vnrest and how that it doth fare,
The payne thearof, the greef and all the rest.
The watrid eyes from whence the teares do fall
Do feele some force or ells they wolde be drye;
The wasted flesshe of cowlour dead can trye
And Some thing tell what Sweetnes is in gall;
And he that list to see and to discerne
How care can force within a weried mynd
Come hee to me, I am that place assynd.
But for all this no force; it dothe no harme
The wound, alas, happ in some other place
Ffrom whence no toole away the skarr can race.
But you that of suche like have had your part
Can best be iudge, whearfore, my frend so deare,
I thought it good my state shuld now appeare
To you, and that there is no great desert;
And whear as you in weightie matters great
Of ffortune saw the shadow that you know,
Ffor trifling thinges I now am stryken soo
That thoughe I feele my hart doth wound and beat,
I sitt alone, save on the second day
My ffeaver comes with whome I spend the tyme
In burning heat whyle that she list assigne;
And whoe hath health and libertie alwaye,
Let hym thanck god and lett hym not provoke
To have the lyke of this my paynefull stroke.
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | |