A Wet Spring Day

i

On this sodden April day, I’ve had some 650 year old lines of poetry from Geoffrey Chaucer going round and round in my head –

Whan that Aprille with her shoures soote

The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote,

And bathed every veyne in swich licour,

Of which vertu engendred is the flour;

Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth

Inspired hath in every holt and heath

The tender croppes, and the yonge sonne

Hath in the ram his halfe cours yronne,

And smale fowles maken melodye

That slepen al the night with open ye.

Perhaps I was a literature student for too long.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s