And bathed every veine in swiche licour
Of which vertue engendred is the flour;
When Zephyrus eke with his sote brethe
Enspired hath in every holt and hethe
The tendre croppes—and the yonge Sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne;
* * * *
Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages—
* * * *
* * * *