Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42). The Poetical Works. 1880.
OdesThat nothing may assuage his Pain save only his Ladys Favour
I
That inwardly doth cause me sigh and groan;
Your hard heart, and your cruel breast
Should sigh and plain for my unrest;
And though it were of stone,
Yet should remorse cause it relent and moan.
But since it is so far out of measure,
That with my words I can it not contain,
My only trust! my heart’s treasure!
Alas! why do I still endure
This restless smart and pain?
Since if ye list ye may my woe restrain.