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;
Often overshadowed by the larger then life light of William Shakespeare, Wyatt truly lives up to his nickname as the father of the English sonnet!
what a great poet with creative poems. Alas bad time flies but good times crawls