by Geoffrey Chaucer

from The General Prologue

Whan that Aprill with his showres soote
the droughte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veine in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flowr;
Whan Zephyrus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye
That sleepen al the night with open y?-
So priketh hem Nature in hir corages-
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seeken straunge strondes
To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelonde to Canterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martyr for to seeke
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seke.