Whoso tells Wyatt, I know where is an hart,
And as for me, to hope I shall.
The oblivious bidding of my time Does weary me sore.
I'm of them, a rose amidst daisies.
Yet not I knows which ails me more;
To be a rose with a thorn or a thorn with a rose.
Do not deter my hart from pursuit
For his quarry has long sought it.
Unrequited love you fuss?

Anonymity of being in a forest of Daisies I whine.
Flee from you I choose, to draw Hither to him, I seek.
"I pertinent ad meridiem" but to Whom I choose.
In his shadows I tread, Wyatt let thy Fleeting hart be witting.