The Lover Compareth His State To A Ship In Perilous Storm Tossed On The Sea


Sir Thomas Wyatt

My galley chargéd with forgetfulness

Through sharp seas, in winter nights doth pass,

'Tween rock and rock; and eke my foe, alas,

That is my lord, steereth with cruelness,

And every hour, a thought in readiness,

As though that death were light in such a case.

An endless wind doth tear the sail apace,

Of forcéd sighs, and trusty fearfulness.

A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain

Hath done the wearied cords great hinderance,

Wreathéd with error, and with ignorance.

The stars be hid that led me to this pain;

Drowned is reason that should be my comfort,

And I remain, despairing of the port.


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