Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droughte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veine in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
When 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 foweles maken melodye
That sleepen al the night with open yë--
So priketh hem Nature in hir corages--
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimmages...
The droughte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veine in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
When 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 foweles maken melodye
That sleepen al the night with open yë--
So priketh hem Nature in hir corages--
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimmages...
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