Thomas Wyatt (Томас Уайетт)

The Furious Gun

The furious gun in his raging ire,
When that the bowl is rammed in too sore
And that the flame cannot part from the fire,
Cracketh in sunder, and in the air doth roar
The shivered pieces; right so doth my desire,
Whose flame increaseth from more to more,
Which to let out I dare not look or speak;
So now hard force my heart doth all to break. 

1. With Serving Still
2. What Needeth these Threnning Words and Wasted Wind
3. Madame, Withouten Many Words
4. A Description of Such a One As He Would Love
5. Mine Own John Poynz

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 2003

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