Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||
CCXLIV
[Syghes ar my foode, drynke are my teares]
Syghes ar my foode, drynke are my teares;Clynkinge of fetters suche musycke wolde crave;
Stynke and close ayer away my lyf wears;
Innocencie is all the hope I have.
Rayne, wynde, or wether I iudge by myne eares.
Mallice assaulteth that rightiousnes should have.
Sure I am, Brian, this wounde shall heale agayne,
But yet, alas, the scarre shall styll remayne.
Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||