| |
|
Whoso list to
hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, helas!
I may no more.
The vain travail hath worried me so
sore,
I am of them that furthest come behind.
Yet may I by no means, my worried 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 in diamonds in letters plain
There is
written, her fair neck round about,
"Noli me tangere,
for Caesar's I am,
And wild to hold, though I seem
tame."
|
|
|
