Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt :: :: University of Virginia Library

The lyvely sperkes that issue from those Iyes
Against the which ne vaileth no defence
Have prest myn hert and done it none offence
With qwaking pleasure more then ons or twise.
Was never man could any thing devise
The sonne bemes to torne with so great vehemence,
To dase mans sight as by their bright presence.
Dased ame I much like vnto the gyse
Of one I-stricken with dynt of lightening,
Blynded with the stroke, erryng here and there,
So call I for helpe, I not when ne where,
The pain of my fal patiently bering:
For after the blase, as is no wounder,
Of dedly nay here I the ferefull thoundere.