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 | ||
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 | ||