The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings, With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale: The nightingale with feathers new she sings; The turtle to her make hath told her tale; Summer is come, for every spray now springs.
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote.Geoffrey Chaucer
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swych licour Of which vertu engendred is the flour; Whan Zephirus 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 slepen al the nyght with open ye (So priketh hem nature in hir corages); Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages.Geoffrey Chaucer
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