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Poem by Thomas Wyatt


The Furious Gun


The furious gun in his raging ire,
When that the bowl is rammed in too sore
And that the flame cannot part from the fire,
Cracketh in sunder, and in the air doth roar
The shivered pieces; right so doth my desire,
Whose flame increaseth from more to more,
Which to let out I dare not look or speak;
So now hard force my heart doth all to break. 



Thomas Wyatt


Thomas Wyatt's other poems:
  1. Stand Whoso List
  2. Since so Ye Please
  3. Of the Mean and Sure Estate
  4. Mine Own John Poynz
  5. My Lute Awake


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