Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONG: 110, by THOMAS WYATT



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SONG: 110, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: I must go walk the woods so wild
Last Line: And all for your love, my dear.
Alternate Author Name(s): Wyat, Thomas
Subject(s): Animals; Birds; Forests; Life; Love; Nature; Trust; Woods


I must go walk the woods so wild
And wander here and there
In dread and deadly fear,
For where I trusted I am beguiled,
And all for your love, my dear.

I am banished from my bliss
By craft and false pretense,
Faultless, without offense,
And of return no certain is,
And all for your love, my dear.

Banished am I, remediless,
To wilderness alone,
Alone to sigh and moan
And of relief all comfortless
And all for your love, my dear.

My house shall be the greenwood tree,
A tuft of brakes under my bed.
And this my life I lead
As one from his joy doth flee
And all for your love, my dear.

The running streams shall be my drink,
Acorns shall be my food:
Naught may do me good,
But on your beauty for to think,
And all for your love, my dear.

And when the deer draw to the green,
Makes me think on a roe:
How I have seen ye go
Above the fairest, fairest beseen!
And all for your love, my dear.

But where I see in any coast
Two turtles sit and play,
Rejoicing all the day,
Alas, I think, this have I lost
And all for your love, my dear.

No bird, no bush, no bough I see
But bringeth to my mind
Something whereby I find
My heart far wandered, far fro me,
And all for your love, my dear.

The tune of birds when I do hear,
My heart doth bleed, alas,
Remembering how I was
Wont for to hear your ways so clear
And all for your love, my dear.

My thought doth please me for the while:
While I see my desire
Naught else I do require.
So with my thought I me beguile
And all for your love, my dear.

Yet I am further from my thought
Than earth from heaven above.
And yet for to remove
My pain, alas, availeth naught
And all for your love, my dear.

And where I lie, secret, alone,
I mark that face anon
That stayeth my life, as one
That other comfort can get none
And all for your love, my dear.

The summer days that be so long
I walk and wander wide,
Alone, without a guide,
Always thinking how I have wrong
And all for your love, my dear.

The winter nights that are so cold
I lie amid the storms,
Unwrapped, in pricking thorns,
Remembering my sorrows old
And all for your love, my dear.

A woeful man such desert life
Becometh best of all.
But woe might them befall
That are the causers of this strife
And all for your love, my dear.





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