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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.
Sir Thomas Wyatt
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Read poems about / on: hate, sorrow, war, death, peace, fear, hope, pain, wind, world, life
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Sir Thomas Wyatt
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Sir Thomas Wyatt
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Jake Blues
(12/4/2007 8:11:00 PM) |
I love this poem. The second to last line is reversed, though.
Should read...
Likewise displeaseth me both death and life,
And my delight is causer of this strife.
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Sir Thomas Wyatt
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