An hundred altars round about were set,
All flaming with their sacrifices fire,
That with the steme thereof the Temple swet,
Which rould in clouds to heaven did aspire,
And in them bore true lovers vowes entire:
And eke an hundred brazen cauldrons bright
To bath in joy and amorous desire,
Every of which was to a damzell bright;
For all the Priests were damzells in soft linnen dight ...
glows with colour and warmth. Chaucer’s perfunctory statement that the windows of his chamber were well glazed and unbroken,
That to beholde it were gret joye,
and that in the glazing was wrought
... al the storie of Troye,
····
Of Ector and king Pirriamus,
Of Achilles and Lamedon,
Of Medea and of Jason,
Of Paris, Eleyne, and Lavyne ...
leaves us untouched.
But if Chaucer is ill at ease within four walls, and takes but scant pleasure in looking at tapestries and pictures, the moment he slips out of doors he becomes a different being. He is no Wordsworth noting each twig and leaf, or watching with mystic gaze the shadows fall on the silent hills. He is content to fill his garden with flowers of the regulation
... whyte, blewe, yelowe, and rede;
And colde welle-stremes no-thing dede,
That swommen ful of smale fisshes lighte
With finnes rede and scales silver-brighte,
and it is probably just as well not to inquire too closely into the natural order of either blossoms or fish. Cressida’s garden is distinguished by the neatness of its fences, and the fact that its paths have recently been gravelled and provided with nice new benches. But even in these trim and formal gardens the spirit of spring is abroad, and once in the wood, Chaucer abandons himself to the sheer joy of nature. He passes down a green glade
Ful thikke of gras, ful softe and swete,
With floures fele, faire under fete....
·····
For it was, on to beholde
As thogh the erthe envye wolde
To be gayer than the heven
To have mo floures, swiche seven
As in the welken sterres be.[168]
Hit had forgete the povertee
That winter, through his colde morwes,
Had mad hit suffre[n], and his sorwes;
Al was forgeten, and that was sene.
For al the wode was waxen grene.
Swetnesse of dewe had mad it waxe ...