HOW THE LOVER PERISHETH IN HIS DE-|
LIGHT AS THE FLY IN THE FIRE.1
OME fowls there be that have so perfect |
Against the sun their eyes for to defend ;
And some, because the light doth them offend,
Never appear but in the dark or night :
Other rejoice to see the fire so bright,
And ween to play in it, as they pretend,
But find contrary of it, that they intend.
Alas ! of that sort may I be by right ;
For to withstand her look I am not able ;
Yet can I not hide me in no dark place ;
So followeth me remembrance of that face,
That with my teary eyen, swoln, and unstable,
My destiny to behold her doth me lead ;
And yet I know I run into the glead.
1 Petrarch. Son. 12.
2 Hot coal or wood.
Yeowell, James, Ed. The Poetical Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt.
London: George Bell and Sons, 1904. 8.
||to the Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt|
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Created by Anniina Jokinen on January 15, 2000. Last updated March 12, 2007.