THE LOVER SENDETH SIGHS TO MOVE

HIS SUIT.1

G O, burning sighs, unto the frozen heart,
   To break the ice, which pity's painful
          dart
Might never pierce ; and if that mortal prayer
In heaven be heard, at least yet I desire
That death or mercy end my woful smart.
Take with thee pain, whereof I have my part,
And eke the flame from which I cannot start,
And leave me then in rest, I you require.
Go, burning sighs, fulfil that I desire,
I must go work, I see, by craft and art,
For truth and faith in her is laid apart :
Alas, I cannot therefore now assail her,
With pitiful complaint and scalding fire,
That from my breast deceivably doth start.
                                     Go burning sighs !



1 Petrarch, Son. 120.


Source:
Yeowell, James, Ed. The Poetical Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt.
London: George Bell and Sons, 1904. 24.




Backto the Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt


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Created by Anniina Jokinen on January 13, 2001. Last updated January 22, 2007.