Thursday, 16 May 2019

Whoso List to Hunt, I Know where is an Hind by Thomas Wyatt

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind, 
But as for me, hélas, I may no more. 
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore, 
I am of them that farthest cometh behind. 
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind 
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore 
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore, 
Sithens 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 with diamonds in letters plain 
There is written, her fair neck round about: 
Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am, 
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame. 

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