The Flower and the Leaf

When that Phebus his chaire of gold so hie Hadde whirled up the sterrie sky alofte, And in the Boole was entred certainely: When shoures sweet of raine discended softe, Causing the ground, fele times & ofte, Up for to give many an wholesome aire, And every plaine was eke yclothed faire

With newe green, and maketh smalle floures To springen here and there in field & mede; So very good & wholsome be the shoures, That it renueth that was old and dede In winter time; and out of every sede Springeth the hearbe, so that every wight Of this season wexeth ful glad and light.

And I, so glad of the season thus swete, Was happed thus upon a certaine nighte: As I lay in my bed, sleepe ful unmete Was unto me, but why that I ne mighte Rest, I ne wiste; for there nas earthly wight, As I suppose, hadde more heartes ease Than I, for I nadde sicknesse nor disease.

Wherefore I mervaile greatly of myselfe, That I withouten sleepe so longe lay; And up I rose three houres after twelfe, Aboute the springing of the day, And on I putte my geare and mine array, And to a pleasaunt grove I gan to passe, Long or the brighte Sonne uprisen was;