Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson |
| 21 |  |
| 13 | | I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| 1 | V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| 1 | XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| 1 | XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| 1 | LIII. |
| 1 | LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| 1 | LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| 2 | LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. | LXXVII
|
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
| 1 | LXXXII. |
| LXXXIII. |
| LXXXIV. |
| LXXXV. |
| LXXXVI. |
| LXXXVII. |
| LXXXVIII. |
| LXXXIX. |
| XC. |
| XCI. |
| XCII. |
| XCIII. |
| XCIV. |
| XCV. |
| XCVI. |
| XCVII. |
| 3 | XCVIII. |
| XCIX. |
| C. |
| 1 | CI. |
| CII. |
| CIII. |
| CIV. |
 | II. |
| 4 | | III. |
| IV. |
| 2 | | V. |
| VI. |
| 2 | | VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
 | Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt |  |
LXXVII
[To cause accord or to aggre]
To cause accord or to aggre,
Two contraries in oon degre,
And in oon poynct as semeth me
To all mens wit it cannot be:
It is impossible.
Two contraries in oon degre,
And in oon poynct as semeth me
To all mens wit it cannot be:
It is impossible.
Of hete and cold when I complain
And say that hete doeth cause my pain,
When cold doeth shake me every vain,
And boeth at ons, I say again
It is impossible.
And say that hete doeth cause my pain,
When cold doeth shake me every vain,
And boeth at ons, I say again
It is impossible.
That man that hath his hert away
If lyff lyveth there as men do say
That he hertles should last on day
Alyve and not to torne to clay,
It is impossible.
If lyff lyveth there as men do say
That he hertles should last on day
Alyve and not to torne to clay,
It is impossible.
Twixt lyff and deth, say what who sayth,
There lyveth no lyff that draweth breth;
They joyne so nere and eke i' feith
To seke for liff by wissh of deth,
It is impossible.
There lyveth no lyff that draweth breth;
They joyne so nere and eke i' feith
To seke for liff by wissh of deth,
It is impossible.
Yet love that all thing doeth subdue
Whose power ther may no liff eschew
Hath wrought in me that I may rew
These miracles to be so true
That are impossible.
Whose power ther may no liff eschew
Hath wrought in me that I may rew
These miracles to be so true
That are impossible.
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | |