Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
I find no peace, and all my war is done:
I fear, and hope; I burn, and freeze like ice;
I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise;
And nought I have, and all the world I seize on;
That locketh nor loseth holdeth me in prison,
And holdeth me not, yet can I 'scape nowise:
Nor letteth me live, nor die at my devise,
And yet of death it giveth me occasion.
Without eyen I see, and without tongue I 'plain;
I desire to perish, and yet I ask health;
I love another, and thus I hate myself;
I feed me in sorrow, and laugh in all my pain.
Likewise displeaseth me both death and life,
And my delight is causer of this strife.