Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
Thomas Wyatt
A face that should content me wondrous well
Should not be fair but lovely to behold,
With gladsome cheer all grief for to expel;
With sober looks so would I that it should
Speak without words such words as none can tell;
Her tress also should be of crisped gold;
With wit; and thus might chance I might be tied,
And knit again the knot that should not slide.