The Spring in April

When April with his showers sweet with fruit

The drought of March has pierced unto the root,

And bathed each vein with liquor that has power

To generate therein and sire the flower;

When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,

Quickened again, in every holt and heath,

The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun

Into the Ram one half his course has run,

And many little birds make melody

That sleep thro' all the night with open eye

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

Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage,

And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,

To distant shrines wel known in sundry lands;

And specially from every shire's end

Of England they to Canterbury wend,

The holy blessed martyr there to seek

Who helped them when they lay so ill and weak.