 | Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt |  |
LXV
[Ons as me thought fortune me kyst]
Ons as me thought fortune me kyst
And bad me aske what I thought best,
And I should have it as me list
Therewith to set my hert in rest.
And bad me aske what I thought best,
And I should have it as me list
Therewith to set my hert in rest.
48
I asked nought but my dere hert
To have for evermore myn owne;
Then at an ende were all my smert,
Then should I nede no more to mone.
To have for evermore myn owne;
Then at an ende were all my smert,
Then should I nede no more to mone.
Yet for all that a stormy blast
Had overtorned this goodely day;
And fortune semed at the last
That to her promes she saide nay.
Had overtorned this goodely day;
And fortune semed at the last
That to her promes she saide nay.
But like as oon oute of dispere
To soudden hope revived I;
Now fortune sheweth herself so fayer
That I content me wonderly.
To soudden hope revived I;
Now fortune sheweth herself so fayer
That I content me wonderly.
My moost desire my hand may reche,
My will is alwaye at my hand;
Me nede not long for to beseche
Her that hath power me to commaund.
My will is alwaye at my hand;
Me nede not long for to beseche
Her that hath power me to commaund.
What erthely thing more can I crave?
What would I wisshe more at my will?
No thing on erth more would I have,
Save that I have to have it still.
What would I wisshe more at my will?
No thing on erth more would I have,
Save that I have to have it still.
For fortune hath kept her promes
In graunting me my moost desire:
Of my sufferaunce I have redres,
And I content me with my hiere.
In graunting me my moost desire:
Of my sufferaunce I have redres,
And I content me with my hiere.
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | |