When the sweet showers of april fall and shoot
Down throught the drought of march to pierce the root,
Bathing every vein in liquid power
From which there springs the endgendering of the flower,
When also zephyrus with his sweet breath
Exhales an air in every grove and heath
Upon the tender shoots, and the young sun
His half course in the sign of the Ram has run,
And the small fowls are making melody
That sleep away the night with open eye
(so nature pricks them and their hearts engages)
Then people long to go on pilgrimag es
And palmers long to seek the stranger strands
of far of saints hallowed in sundry lands,
And specially from every shire's end
In England down to Canterbury they wend
To seek the holy blissful martyr, quick
In giving help to them when they were sick.