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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 wearied me so sore, I am of them that furthest come 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, 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.' Thomas Wyatt's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 2373 |
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