Whan that April with is showres soote / The drought of March
hath perced to the roote / And bathed every vein in swich licour, / Of which vertu
engendred is the flowr; / Whan Zephyrus eek, with his sweete breeth / Inspirid hath in
every holt and heeth / The tender croppes, and the yonge sunne / Hath in the Ram his halve
course y-runne, / And smalle fowles maken melodye / That sleepen all the night with open
ye / (So pricketh hem Nature in hir corages), / Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, /
And palmers for to seeken straunge strondes / To ferne halwes, kouth in sundry londes: /
And specially, from every shires ende / Of Engelond, to Canterbury they wende, / The holy
blisful martyr for to seeke / That hem hath holpen whan they were seke.
- Geoffrey Chaucer
- Canterbury Tales
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