IFIND no peace, and all my war is done ;
I fear and hope, I burn, and freeze like
      ice ;
I fly aloft, yet can I not arise ;
And nought I have, and all the world I seize on,
That locks nor loseth, holdeth me in prison,
And holds me not, yet can I scape no wise :
Nor lets me live, nor die, at my devise,
And yet of death it giveth me occasion.
Without eye I see ; without tongue I plain :
I wish to perish, yet I ask for health ;
I love another, and thus I hate myself ;
I feed me in sorrow, and laugh in all my pain.
    Lo, thus displeaseth me both death and life,
    And my delight is causer of this strife.

2  In imitation of Petrarch, Son. 104. This sonnet will
be found, with some variations, in Nugæ Antiquæ, ed. 1769,
vol. i. p. 169, and in Davison's Poems, ed. 1621, book ii.
Canzon. viii. p. 108.

Yeowell, James, Ed. The Poetical Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt.
London: George Bell and Sons, 1904. 9-10.

Backto the Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt

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