The Long Love that in my Thought doth Harbour
by Thomas Wyatt
The longë love that in my thought doth harbour
And in mine hert doth keep his residence,
Into my face presseth with bold pretence
And therein campeth, spreading his banner.
She that me learneth to love and suffer
And will that my trust and lustës negligence
Be rayned by reason, shame, and reverence,
With his hardiness taketh displeasure.
Wherewithall unto the hert's forest he fleeth,
Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry,
And there him hideth and not appeareth.
What may I do when my master feareth
But in the field with him to live and die?
For good is the life ending faithfully.
I abide and abide and better abide,
And after the old proverb, the happy day;
And ever my lady to me doth say,
Alas, madam, for stealing of a kiss
Have I so much your mind there offended?
Have I then done so grievously amiss
What should I say,
Since faith is dead,
And truth away
You that in love finde lucke and habundaunce,
And live in lust and joyful jolitie,
Arise, for shame, do away your sluggardie;
Patience, though I have not
The thing that I require,
I must of force, God wot,
THERE was never nothing more me pain'd
Nor more my pity mov'd,
As when my sweetheart her complain'd,
Who list his wealth and ease retain,
Himself let him unknown contain.
Press not too fast in at that gate
WHAT meaneth this! when I lie alone
I toss, I turn, I sigh, I groan;
My bed me seems as hard as stone:
Is it possible
That so high debate,
So sharp, so sore, and of such rate,