Selected Poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt
There Was Never Nothing More Me Pained
There was never nothing more me pained,
Nor nothing more me moved,
As when my sweetheart her complained
That ever she me loved.
Alas the while!
With piteous look she said and sighed:
"Alas, what aileth me
To love and set my wealth so light
On him that loveth not me?
Alas the while!
"Was I not well void of all pain,
When that nothing me grieved?
And now with sorrows I must complain,
And cannot be relieved.
Alas the while!
"My restful nights and joyful days
Since I began to love
Be take from me; all thing decays,
Yet can I not remove.
Alas the while!"
She wept and wrung her hands withal,
The tears fell in my neck;
She turned her face and let it fall;
Scarcely therewith could speak.
Alas the while!
Her pains tormented me so sore
That comfort had I none,
But cursed my fortune more and more
To see her sob and groan:
Alas the while!
Forget Not Yet
Forget not yet the tried intent
Of such a truth as I have meant,
My great travail so gladly spent
Forget not yet.
Forget not yet when first began
The weary life ye know since when,
The suit, the service none tell can,
Forget not yet.
Forget not yet the great assays,
The cruel wrong, the scornful ways,
The painful patience in denays,
Forget not yet.
Forget not yet, forget not this,
How long ago hath been and is
The mind that never meant amiss,
Forget not yet.
Forget not yet thine own approved,
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved,
Forget not this.
My Lute Awake!
My lute awake! perform the last
Labour that ...
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