Had dryed up the lusty licour newe Upon the herbes in the grene mede, 30 And that the floures, of many dyvers hewe, Upon hir stalkes gonne for to sprede And for to splaye[n] out hir leves on-brede Agayn the sonne, gold-burned in his spere, That doun to hem caste his bemes clere. 35 And by a river forth I gan costey Of water clere as berel or cristal Til at the laste I found a litel wey Toward a park, enclosed with a wal In compas rounde, and by a gate smal 40 Who-so that wolde frely mighte goon Into this park, walled with grene stoon. And in I wente, to here the briddes song, Whiche on the braunches, bothe in playn and vale, So loude songe, that al the wode rong 45 Lyke as it shulde shiver in peces smale; And, as me thoughte, that the nightingale With so gret mighte her voys gan out-wreste Right as her herte for love wolde breste. The soil was playn, smothe, and wonder softe 50 Al oversprad with tapites that Nature Had mad her-selve, celured eek alofte With bowes grene, the floures for to cure, That in hir beautè they may longe endure From al assaut of Phebus fervent fere, 55 Whiche in his spere so hote shoon and clere. The eyre attempre, and the smothe wind Of Zepherus, among the blossomes whyte, So hoolsom was and norisshing by kind, That smale buddes, and rounde blomes lyte 60 In maner gonnen of her brethe delyte To yeve us hope that hir fruit shal take, Ayens autumpne, redy for to shake. I saw ther Daphne, closed under rinde, Grene laurer, and the hoolsom pyne; 65 The myrre also, that wepeth ever of kinde; The cedres hye, upright as a lyne; The philbert eek, that lowe doth enclyne Her bowes grene to the erthe adoun Unto her knight, y-called Demophoun. 70 Ther saw I eek the fresshe hawëthorn In whyte motlè, that so swote doth smelle, Ash, firre, and ook, with many a yong acorn, And many a tree--mo than I can telle; And, me beforn, I saw a litel welle, 75 That had his cours, as I gan beholde, Under an hille, with quikke stremes colde. The gravel gold, the water pure as glas, The bankes rounde, the welle envyroning; And softe as veluët the yonge gras 80 That therupon lustily cam springing; The sute of trees aboute compassing Hir shadowe caste, closing the welle rounde, And al the herbes growing on the grounde. The water was so hoolsom and vertuous 85 Through might of herbes growing there besyde, Not lyk the welle, wher-as Narcisus Y-slayn was, through vengeaunce of Cupyde, Where so covertly he didë hyde The grayn of cruel dethe upon ech brinke, 90 That deeth mot folowe, who that ever drinke;