Hush o'er azure stone ridge, hypnotic wax moon
crescent rustle from a piebald furry deer,
silver tint antler scoops orange leaf detritus,
canopy of ink black mist dewdrops
corral Northern Bobwhite quest,
shuddersome elk on bituminous coal summit
casts its pearl oyster glance into the precipice
Whoso List to Hunt, or, Whoever Longs to Hunt
original poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt the Elder
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Whoever longs to hunt, I know the deer;
but as for me, alas!, I may no more.
This vain pursuit has left me so bone-sore
I'm one of those who falters, at the rear.
Yet friend, how can I draw my anguished mind
away from the doe? Thus, as she flees before
me, fainting I follow. I must leave off, therefore,
since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
