Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson |
21 |
13 | I. |
II. |
4 | III. |
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. |
VI. |
2 | VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||
XXXVII
[They fle from me that sometyme did me seke]
They fle from me that sometyme did me seke
With naked fote stalking in my chambre.
I have sene theim gentill tame and meke
That nowe are wyld and do not remembre
That sometyme they put theimself in daunger
To take bred at my hand; and nowe they raunge
Besely seking with a continuell chaunge.
With naked fote stalking in my chambre.
I have sene theim gentill tame and meke
That nowe are wyld and do not remembre
That sometyme they put theimself in daunger
To take bred at my hand; and nowe they raunge
Besely seking with a continuell chaunge.
Thancked be fortune, it hath ben othrewise
Twenty tymes better; but ons in speciall
In thyn arraye after a pleasaunt gyse
When her lose gowne from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her armes long and small;
Therewithall swetely did me kysse,
And softely said ‘dere hert, how like you this?’
Twenty tymes better; but ons in speciall
In thyn arraye after a pleasaunt gyse
When her lose gowne from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her armes long and small;
Therewithall swetely did me kysse,
And softely said ‘dere hert, how like you this?’
It was no dreme: I lay brode waking.
But all is torned thorough my gentilnes
Into a straunge fasshion of forsaking;
And I have leve to goo of her goodeness,
And she also to vse new fangilnes.
But syns that I so kyndely ame serued,
I would fain knowe what she hath deserued.
But all is torned thorough my gentilnes
Into a straunge fasshion of forsaking;
And I have leve to goo of her goodeness,
And she also to vse new fangilnes.
But syns that I so kyndely ame serued,
I would fain knowe what she hath deserued.
Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||