Whan
that
Aprill
with his shoures soote
The
droghte
of March hath perced
to the
roote,
And bathed every
veyne
in
swich 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 half
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,
And
palmeres
for to
seken straunge strondes,
To
ferne halwes,
kowthe
in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires
ende
Of
Engelond
to
Caunterbury
they
wende,
The
hooly blisful martir
for to
seke,
That hem hath
holpen whan
that they were
seek
learn you some reeel englishes