Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||
LIX
[Some tyme I fled the fyre that me brent]
Some tyme I fled the fyre that me brentBy see, by land, by water and by wynd;
And now I folow the coles that be quent
From Dovor to Calais against my mynde.
Lo! how desire is boeth sprong and spent!
And he may se that whilome was so blynde;
And all his labor now he laugh to scorne.
Mashed in the breers that erst was all to torne.
Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||