Who so list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, alas! I may no more:
The vain travail hath worried 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 in 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."
Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503 - 1542)
