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

Suche vayn thought as wonted to myslede me
In desert hope by well assured mone,
Maketh me from compayne to live alone,
In folowing her whome reason bid me fle.
She fleith as fast by gentill crueltie;
And after her myn hert would fain be gone,
But armed sighes my way do stoppe anone,
Twixt hope and drede locking my libertie.
Yet, as I gesse, vnder disdaynfull browe
One beame of pitie is in her clowdy loke,
Which comforteth the mynde that erst for fere shoke:
And therewithall bolded I seke the way how
To vtter the smert that I suffre within,
But suche it is, I not how to begyn.