THE LOVER PRAYETH HIS OFFERED|
HEART TO BE RECEIVED.1
OW oft have I, my dear and cruel foe,|
With my great pain to get some peace
Given you my heart ; but you do not use
In so high things, to cast your mind so low.
If any other look for it, as you trow,
Their vain weak hope doth greatly them abuse :
And that thus I disdain, that you refuse ;
It was once mine, it can no more be so.
If you it chafe, that it in you can find,
In this exile, no manner of comfort,
Nor live alone, nor where he is called resort ;
He may wander from his natural kind.
So shall it be great hurt unto us twain,
And yours the loss, and mine the deadly pain.
1 Petrarch, Son. 19.
Yeowell, James, Ed. The Poetical Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt.
London: George Bell and Sons, 1904. 14.
||to the Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt|
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Created by Anniina Jokinen on August 4, 2000. Last updated January 22, 2007.