 | Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt |  |
45
LX
[He is not ded that somtyme hath a fall.]
He is not ded that somtyme hath a fall.The Sonne retorneth that was vnder the clowd
And when fortune hath spitt oute all her gall
I trust good luck to me shalbe allowd.
For I have sene a shippe into haven fall
After the storme hath broke boeth mast and shrowd;
And eke the willowe that stowpeth with the wynde
Doeth ryse again, and greater wode doeth bynd.
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | |