Prologue to The Canterbury Tales

¹When April with his showers sweet with fruit

²The drought of March has pierced unto the root

³And bathed each vein with liquor that has power

⁴To generate therein and sire the flower;

⁵When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,

⁶Quickened again, in every holt and heath,

⁷The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun

⁸Into the Ram one half his course has run,

⁹And many little birds make melody

¹⁰That sleep through all the night with open eye

¹¹(So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage) —

¹²Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage,

¹³And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,

¹⁴To distant shrines well known in sundry lands.

¹⁵And specially from every shire's end

¹⁶Of England they to Canterbury wend,

¹⁷The holy blessed martyr there to seek

¹⁸Who helped them when that they were sick.