Love
He is not ded that somtyme hath a fall
From The Poems of Sir Thomas Wiat (ed. A. K. Foxwell, 1913)
Love
He is not ded that somtyme hath a fall :
The Sonne retornth that was under the clowde :
And when fortune hath spitt oute all her gall,
I trust good luck to me shalbe allowede.
For I have sene a shipp into haven fall,
After the storme hath broke boeth mast and shrowde :
And eke the willowe that stowpith with the wynde,
Doeth ryse again, and greater wode doeth bynd.
Cite this poem
MLA
Wyatt, Thomas. “He is not ded that somtyme hath a fall.” Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/wyatt/53/.
Chicago
Wyatt, Thomas. “He is not ded that somtyme hath a fall.” Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/wyatt/53/.
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