andrew wyeth

On the blue summer evenings, I'll go down the paths,
Pricked by the corn, treading the short grass:
Dreaming I shall feel its coolness on my feet.
I let the wind bathe my bare head.

I'll not speak, I shall think about nothing:
But the infinite love will mount in my soul,
And I'll go far, far away, like a gypsy,
By Nature - happy as with a woman.

Arthur Rimbaud