O yonge fresshe folkes, he or she, In which that love up-groweth with your age, Repeyreth hoom fro worldly vanitee, And of your herte up-casteth the visage To thilke God that after his image Yow made, and thynketh al nis but a faire This world, that passeth sone as floures faire.
Of all the floures in the mede, Than love I most these floures white and rede, Soch that men callen daisies in our toun.Geoffrey Chaucer
That well by reason men it call may The daisie, or els the eye of the day, The emprise, and floure of floures all.Geoffrey Chaucer
"Sye," he seyd, "be the same hatte I can knowe yf my wyfe be badde To me by eny other man; If my floures ouver fade or falle, Then doth my wyfe me wrong wyth alle As many a woman can."
That of all the floures in the mede, Thanne love I most these floures white and rede, Suche as men callen daysyes in her toune.Geoffrey Chaucer
That men by reason will it calle may The daisie or elles the eye of day The emperice, and floure of floures alle.Geoffrey Chaucer
And as for me, though than I konne but lyte, On bokes for to rede I me delyte, And to hem yeve I feyth and ful credence, And in myn herte have hem in reverence So hertely, that ther is game noon. That fro my bokes maketh me to goon, But yt be seldome on the holy day. Save, certeynly, when that the monthe of May Is comen, and that I here the foules synge, And that the floures gynnen for to sprynge, Farwel my boke, and my devocion.Geoffrey Chaucer