The General Prologue

When in April the sweet showers fall
That pierce March's drought to the root and all
And bathed every vein in liquor that has power
To germinate therein and sire the flower;
When Zephyr also has with his sweet breath
Filled again,in every holt and heath
The tender shoots and leaves,and the young sun
His half-course in the sign of the Ram has run,
And many little birds make melody
That sleep through all the night with open eye
(So Nature pricks them on to camp and rage)
Then folk do long to go on pilgrimage,
And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,
To distant shrines well known in distant lands.

From the Canterbury Tales