Think.

Wyeth, Apple Orchard, 1963

THE WOOD so WILD

I must go walke the woed so wild

And wander here and there

In dred and dedly fere,

For where I trusted I am begild,

And all for one.

Thus am I banished from my blis

By craft and false pretens,

Fautless, without offens,

As of return no certen is,

And all for fer of one.

My bed shall be under the grenwod tree,

A tuft of brakes under my hed,

As one from joye were fled.

Thus from my lif day by day I flee,

And all for one.

The ronning stremes shall be my drinke,

Acorns shall be my fode:

Nothing may do me good,

But when of your bewty I do think,

And all for love of one.

Sir Thomas Wyatt