Erotic Friday: Sir Thomas Wyatt

im back

Yes, I am!  Did you miss me? Well, let’ get 2019 started with another round of erotica. The plan is to showcase a poet a month; one that I’m not familiar with and hopefully you will like them as well.  Here’s today’s poet, Sir Thomas Wyatt.

thomas-wyatt

Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503 – 11 October 1542) was a 16th-century English politician, ambassador, and lyric poet credited with introducing the sonnet to English literature. He was born at Allington Castle, near Maidstone, in Kent, though the family was originally from Yorkshire. His mother was Anne Skinner, and his father, Henry Wyatt, had been a Privy Councillor of Henry VII, and remained a trusted adviser when Henry VIII ascended the throne in 1509. In his turn, Thomas Wyatt followed his father to court, after education at St John’s College, Cambridge.

Although they were circulated at court, Wyatt’s poems were not published during his lifetime; the first book featuring his verse, Tottel’s Miscellany (1557), was printed fifteen years after his death.

Wyatt’s travels abroad exposed him to different forms of poetry, which he adapted for the English language — most notably, the sonnet. Rumored to be Anne Boleyn’s lover, he spent a month in the Tower of London until Boleyn’s execution for adultery. Many consider his poem “Whoso List to Hunt” to be about Boleyn.

I guess you can figure out which poem I am going to showcase. Enjoy and have a good one.

F. M. Laster

“I only like two kinds of men, domestic and imported.” -Mae West

Whoso List to Hunt
by Sir Thomas Wyatt

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, alas!, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh 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 Caesar’s I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

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