Someday the world will stop messing around with all the other poets, and acknowledge that Sir Thomas Wyatt reigns above them all in a cloud from which he throws the garlands of mind to us lesser mortals.The title of this post comes from my 2nd favorite of his, with other such wonderful lines like "I am of them that furthest come behind." and "Fainting I follow." and "in a net I seek to hold the wind." Such pretty pretty words. I do love them.
Stephen Fry once made the comment that poetry is the language of strength, and so few people (I feel) understand that. Like any art, if you hate poetry it is because you haven't found the right kind yet.
So here is another Wyatt, my personal favorite poet. (I found the translation out of Middle English because I love and care about all 3 of my faithful readers...)
Help me to seek for I lost it there,
And if that ye have found it, ye that be here,
And seek to convey it secretly,
Handle it soft, and treat it tenderly :
Or else it will plain and then appear ;
But rather restore it mannerly,
Since that I do ask it thus honestly ;
For to leese it, it sitteth me too near;
Help me to seek.
Alas and is there no remedy ?
But have I thus lost it wilfully ?
I wis it was a thing all too dear
To be bestowed, and wist not where :
It was mine heart, I pray you heartily
Help me to seek.
