Avising the bright beams of these fair eyes <br />Where he is that mine oft moisteth and washeth, <br />The wearied mind straight from the heart departeth <br />For to rest in his worldly paradise <br />And find the sweet bitter under this guise. <br />What webs he hath wrought well he perceiveth <br />Whereby with himself on love he plaineth <br />That spurreth with fire and bridleth with ice. <br />Thus is it in such extremity brought, <br />In frozen thought, now and now it standeth in flame. <br />Twixt misery and wealth, twixt earnest and game, <br />But few glad, and many diverse thought <br />With sore repentance of his hardiness. <br />Of such a root cometh fruit fruitless.<br /><br />Sir Thomas Wyatt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/avising-the-bright-beams/
