Thomas Wyatt (Томас Уайетт)

* * *

Patience, though I have not
The thing that I require,
I must of force, God wot,
Forbear my most desire;
For no ways can I find
To sail against the wind.

Patience, do what they will
To work me woe or spite,
I shall content me still
To think both day and night,
To think and hold my peace,
Since there is no redress.

Patience, withouten blame,
For I offended nought;
I know they know the same,
Though they have changed their thought.
Was ever thought so moved
To hate that it hath loved?

Patience of all my harm,
For fortune is my foe;
Patience must be the charm
To heal me of my woe:
Patience without offence
Is a painful patience. 

1. Alas Madam for Stealing of a Kiss
2. I Abide and Abide and Better Abide
3. A Description of Such a One As He Would Love
4. Madame, Withouten Many Words
5. With Serving Still

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1701

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