hind !
But as for me, alas ! I may no more,
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore ;
I am of them that furthest come behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer ; but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow ; I leave off therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt
As well as I, may spend his time in vain !
And graven with diamonds in letters plain,
There is written her fair neck round about ;
' Noli me tangere ; for Cæsar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.'
(About Anne Boleyn, apparently: risky business)
Sir Thomas Wyatt, dead at 39. He brought the sonnet to England. The rest is history. Some of us still try. Good class; cleared the cobwebs away before arriving home to a warm welcome.
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