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Poem	SONNET CXXXVI. Pien d' un vago pensier, che me desvia. HIS TONGUE IS TIED BY EXCESS OF PASSION. Such vain thought as wonted to mislead meIn desert hope, by well-assurèd moan,Makes me from company to live alone,In following her whom reason bids me flee.She fleeth as fast by gentle cruelty;And after her my heart would fain be gone,But armèd sighs my way do stop anon,'Twixt hope and dread locking my liberty;Yet as I guess, under disdainful browOne beam of ruth is in her cloudy look:Which comforteth the mind, that erst for fear shook:And therewithal bolded I seek the way howTo utter the smart I suffer within;But such it is, I not how to begin. Wyatt. Full of a tender thought, which severs meFrom all my kind, a lonely musing thing,From my breast's solitude I sometimes spring,Still seeking her whom most I ought to flee;And see her pass though soft, so adverse she,[Pg 160]That my soul spreads for flight a trembling wing:Of armèd sighs such legions does she bring,The fair antagonist of Love and me.Yet from beneath that dark disdainful brow,Or much I err, one beam of pity flows,Soothing with partial warmth my heart's distress:Again my bosom feels its wonted glow!But when my simple hope I would disclose,My o'er-fraught faltering tongue the crowded thoughts oppress. Wrangham.
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