Thomas Wyatt… a poet who speaks across the century to us; he was born just over five hundred years ago, and died in 1542… but who could not be moved by his sonnets, or wonder at his imagery and lyricism.
‘List’ here means ‘wants or wishes, and a hind of course is a type of deer. However, I don’t think Wyatt is really talking about going out with spears and bows and arrows to chase a beast… I think he has a more human form in mind, a dear maybe rather than a deer!
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
Lois Elsden 