Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, helas! I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that furthest come 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 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.'
Sir Thomas Wyatt
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/whoso-list-to-hunt/
