English Canterbury pilgrimage
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Whan that April with his shoures soote, The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
When Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth, Inspired hath in every holt and heeth,
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne, Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye, That slepen al the nyght with open ye,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes, To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
The hooly blistful martir for to seke, That hem hath holpen whan what they were seeke.
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