It’s extraordinary to think that Sir Thomas Wyatt lived five hundred years ago; he was born in 1503 and died at the age of thirty-nine in 1542. The reason I think it is extraordinary is that his verses speak with such clarity to us, across the centuries, his images leap off the page, and his feelings and emotions are exactly those we also feel.
He lived in dangerous times and his life must often have been at risk as he was an ambassador for that fearsome king, Henry VIII. What is more, he was suspected of being Anne Boleyn’s lover, and was imprisoned in the Tower of London for some time. Thomas had a son, but tragically his son was executed, at the young age of twenty-two. Thomas, however had died before that happened.
Thomas Wyatt is credited with brining the sonnet form into English… here is an example
Like to these immeasurable mountains
Is my painful life, the burden of ire:
For of great height be they and high is my desire,
And I of tears and they be full of fountains.
Under craggy rocks they have full barren plains;
Hard thoughts in me my woeful mind doth tire.
Small fruit and many leaves their tops do attire;
Small effect with great trust in me remains.
The boist’rous winds oft their high boughs do blast;
Hot sighs from me continually be shed.
Cattle in them and in me love is fed.
Immovable am I and they are full steadfast.
Of the restless birds they have the tune and note,
And I always plaints that pass thorough my throat.
Lois Elsden 