Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SONG: 57 by THOMAS WYATT

Poet Analysis

First Line: MY PEN, TAKE PAIN A LITTLE SPACE
Last Line: MY PEN, I PRITHEE WRITE NO MORE.
Subject(s): LOVE - COMPLAINTS; PENS & PENCILS; WRITING & WRITERS;
My pen, take pain a little space
To follow that which doth me chase,
And hath in hold my heart so sore;
But when thou hast this brought to pass,
My pen, I prithee write no more.
Remember oft thou hast me eased,
And all my pains full well appeased,
But now I know, unknown before,
For where I trust I am deceived;
And yet, my pen, thou canst no more.
A time thou hadst as other have
To write which way my hope to crave.
That time is past, withdraw, therefore:
Since we do lose that other have,
As good leave off and write no more.
In worth to use another way,
Not as we would but as we may,
For once my loss is past restore,
And my desire is my decay.
My pen, yet write a little more.
To love in vain who ever shall,
Of worldly pain it passeth all,
As in like case I find wherefore
To hold so fast and yet to fall!
Alas, my pen, now write no more.
Since thou hast taken pain this space
To follow that which doth me chase
And hath in hold my heart so sore,
Now hast thou brought my mind to pass.
My pen, I prithee write no more.




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