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2002-05-22

What that April with his shoures soot
the drought of Marche hath perced to the root
And bathed every veine in swich licour
of which vertu engendered is the flour
When Zephyrus eek with his sweete breeth
inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the younge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne
And smale fowles maken melodye
That sleepen al night with open ye
So priketh hem Nature in her corages
Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimmages.
And palmeres for to seeken straunge strondes
to ferne galwes, couthe in sondry loudes
And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelond to Cantebury they wende,
The holy blisful martye for to seeke
That hem hath holpen whan they were seke.