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Best Famous Sir Thomas Wyatt Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Sir Thomas Wyatt poems. This is a select list of the best famous Sir Thomas Wyatt poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Sir Thomas Wyatt poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Sir Thomas Wyatt poems.

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Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

They Flee from Me

They flee from me that sometime did me seek
   With naked foot stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle tame and meek That now are wild and do not remember That sometime they put themselves in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range Busily seeking with a continual change.
Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise Twenty times better; but once in special, In thin array after a pleasant guise, When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall, And she me caught in her arms long and small; And therewithal sweetly did me kiss, And softly said, Dear heart, how like you this? It was no dream, I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness Into a strange fashion of forsaking; And I have leave to go of her goodness And she also to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindely am served, I would fain know what she hath deserved.

Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

Whoso List to Hunt

 Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind, 
But as for me, helas! I may no more.
The vain travail hath worried me so sore, I am of them that furthest come behind.
Yet may I by no means, my worried mind Draw from the deer; but as she fleeth afore Fainting I follow.
I leave off therefore, Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt, As well as I, may spend his time in vain; And graven in diamonds in letters plain There is written, her fair neck round about, "Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am, And wild to hold, though I seem tame.

Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

Unstable Dream

 Unstable dream, according to the place,
Be steadfast once, or else at least be true.
By tasted sweetness make me not to rue The sudden loss of thy false feignèd grace.
By good respect in such a dangerous case Thou broughtest not her into this tossing mew But madest my sprite live, my care to renew, My body in tempest her succour to embrace.
The body dead, the sprite had his desire, Painless was th'one, th'other in delight.
Why then, alas, did it not keep it right, Returning, to leap into the fire? And where it was at wish, it could not remain, Such mocks of dreams they turn to deadly pain.

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Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

My Lute Awake

 My lute awake! perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And end that I have now begun;
For when this song is sung and past,
My lute be still, for I have done.
As to be heard where ear is none, As lead to grave in marble stone, My song may pierce her heart as soon; Should we then sigh or sing or moan? No, no, my lute, for I have done.
The rocks do not so cruelly Repulse the waves continually, As she my suit and affection; So that I am past remedy, Whereby my lute and I have done.
Proud of the spoil that thou hast got Of simple hearts thorough Love's shot, By whom, unkind, thou hast them won, Think not he hath his bow forgot, Although my lute and I have done.
Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain That makest but game on earnest pain.
Think not alone under the sun Unquit to cause thy lovers plain, Although my lute and I have done.
Perchance thee lie wethered and old The winter nights that are so cold, Plaining in vain unto the moon; Thy wishes then dare not be told; Care then who list, for I have done.
And then may chance thee to repent The time that thou hast lost and spent To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon; Then shalt thou know beauty but lent, And wish and want as I have done.
Now cease, my lute; this is the last Labour that thou and I shall waste, And ended is that we begun.
Now is this song both sung and past: My lute be still, for I have done.

Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

I Find No Peace

 I find no peace, and all my war is done.
I fear and hope.
I burn and freeze like ice.
I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise; And nought I have, and all the world I season.
That loseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison And holdeth me not--yet can I scape no wise-- Nor letteth me live nor die at my device, And yet of death it giveth me occasion.
Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain.
I desire to perish, and yet I ask health.
I love another, and thus I hate myself.
I feed me in sorrow and laugh in all my pain; Likewise displeaseth me both life and death, And my delight is causer of this strife.

Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

Lux My Fair Falcon

 Lux, my fair falcon, and your fellows all, 
How well pleasant it were your liberty.
Ye not forsake me that fair might ye befall, But they that sometime liked my company, Like lice away from dead bodies they crawl.
Lo, what a proof in light adversity.
But ye, my birds, I swear by all your bells, Ye be my friends, and so be but few else.

Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

Alas Madam for Stealing of a Kiss

 Alas, madam, for stealing of a kiss
Have I so much your mind there offended?
Have I then done so grievously amiss
That by no means it may be amended? 

Then revenge you, and the next way is this:
Another kiss shall have my life ended, 
For to my mouth the first my heart did suck; 
The next shall clean out of my breast it pluck.

Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

Ye Old Mule

 Ye old mule that think yourself so fair,
Leave off with craft your beauty to repair,
For it is true, without any fable,
No man setteth more by riding in your saddle.
Too much travail so do your train appair.
Ye old mule With false savour though you deceive th'air, Whoso taste you shall well perceive your lair Savoureth somewhat of a Kappurs stable.
Ye old mule Ye must now serve to market and to fair, All for the burden, for panniers a pair.
For since gray hairs been powdered in your sable, The thing ye seek for, you must yourself enable To purchase it by payment and by prayer, Ye old mule.

Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

With Serving Still

 With serving still 
This I have won, 
For my goodwill 
To be undone.
And for redress Of all my pain, Disdainfulness I have again.
And for reward Of all my smart, Lo, thus unheard, I must depart.
Wherefore all ye That after shall By fortune be, As I am, thrall, Example take What I have won, Thus for her sake To be undone.

Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

A Revocation

 WHAT should I say? 
 --Since Faith is dead, 
And Truth away 
 From you is fled? 
 Should I be led 
 With doubleness? 
 Nay! nay! mistress.
I promised you, And you promised me, To be as true As I would be.
But since I see Your double heart, Farewell my part! Thought for to take 'Tis not my mind; But to forsake One so unkind; And as I find So will I trust.
Farewell, unjust! Can ye say nay But that you said That I alway Should be obeyed? And--thus betrayed Or that I wist! Farewell, unkist!

Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

Madam Withouten Many Words

 Madam, withouten many words
Once I am sure ye will or no .
And if ye will, then leave your bourds And use your wit and show it so, And with a beck ye shall me call; And if of one that burneth alway Ye have any pity at all, Answer him fair with & {.
} or nay.
If it be &, {.
} I shall be fain; If it be nay, friends as before; Ye shall another man obtain, And I mine own and yours no more.

Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

The Long Love

 The long love that in my thought doth harbour, 
And in mine heart doth keep his residence, 
Into my face presseth with bold pretence, 
And therein campeth, spreading his banner.
She that me learneth to love and suffer, And wills that my trust and lust's negligence Be reined by reason, shame, and reverence, With his hardiness taketh displeasure.
Wherewithal, unto the heart's forest he fleeth, Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry; And there him hideth, and not appeareth.
What may I do when my master feareth But in the field with him to live or die? For good is the life ending faithfully.

Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

Is It Possible

 Is it possible
That so high debate,
So sharp, so sore, and of such rate,
Should end so soon and was begun so late?
Is it possible?

Is it possible
So cruel intent,
So hasty heat and so soon spent,
From love to hate, and thence for to relent?
Is it possible?

Is it possible
That any may find
Within one heart so diverse mind,
To change or turn as weather and wind?
Is it possible?

Is it possible
To spy it in an eye
That turns as oft as chance on die,
The truth whereof can any try?
Is it possible?

It is possible
For to turn so oft,
To bring that lowest which was most aloft,
And to fall highest yet to light soft:
It is possible.
All is possible Whoso list believe.
Trust therefore first, and after preve, As men wed ladies by licence and leave.
All is possible.

Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

And Wilt Thou Leave me Thus?

 And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay, for shame,
To save thee from the blame
Of all my grief and grame;
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath loved thee so long
In wealth and woe among?
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath given thee my heart
Never for to depart,
Nother for pain nor smart;
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus
And have no more pity
Of him that loveth thee?
Hélas, thy cruelty!
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay!

Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt |

In Spain

 Tagus, farewell! that westward with thy streams 
Turns up the grains of gold already tried
With spur and sail, for I go to seek the Thames
Gainward the sun that shewth her wealthy pride, 
And to the town which Brutus sought by dreams, 
Like bended moon doth lend her lusty side.
My king, my country, alone for whome I live, Of mighty love the wings for this me give.