Some fowls there be that have so perfect sight,
Against the sun their eyes for to defend ;
And some, because the light doth them offend,
Never appear but in the dark or night :
Other rejoice to see the fire so bright,
And ween to play in it, as they pretend,
But find contrary of it, that they intend.
Alas ! of that sort may I be by right ;
For to withstand her look I am not able ;
Yet can I not hide me in no dark place ;
So followeth me remembrance of that face,
That with my teary eyen, swoln, and unstable,
My destiny to behold her doth me lead ;
And yet I know I run into the glead.
From: http://www.luminarium.org/renlit/somefowls.htm
Date: 1557 (published)
By: Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542)