Maybe it's less that I didn't feel those sorts of lines then (you find a preponderance of them in Thomas More, of course, and in Edmund Spenser, both of whom rode the roller coaster of "favor" to unfortunate ends), but that I had had no life experience that so quite illuminated them as having my life changed in "an howr" by Robert's sudden crash.
At any rate, I did not find the Wyatt poem, having apparently mislaid my complete Wyatt. But I did find this poem by Sir Edward Dyer (1543-1607), which made me think of Robert:
The lowest trees have tops, the ant her gall,
The fly her spleen, the little spark his heat;
The slender hairs cast shadows, though but small,
And bees have stings, although they be not great;
Seas have their source, and so have shallow springs:
And love is love, in beggars and in kings.
Where waters smoothest run, there deepest are the fords;
The dial stirs, yet none perceives it move;
The firmest faith is found in fewest words;
The turtles do not sing, and yet they love;
True hearts have ears and eyes, no tongues to speak:
They hear and see, and sigh, and then they break.