Thomas Wyatt (Томас Уайетт)

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Lucks, my fair falcon, and your fellows all,
   How well pleasant it were your liberty!
Ye not forsake me that fair might ye befall.
But they that sometime liked my company:
Like lice away from dead bodies they crawl.
Lo what a proof in light adversity!
But ye my birds, I swear by all your bells,
Ye be my friends, and so be but few else.

1. A Description of Such a One As He Would Love
2. With Serving Still
3. Madame, Withouten Many Words
4. In Spain
5. Mine Own John Poynz

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 2010

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