XV.

Worship, O ye that lovers be, this May!
For of your bliss the calends are begun;
And sing with us, 'Away! winter, away!
Come, summer, come, the sweet season and sun;
Awake for shame that have your heavens won;
And amorously lift up your heades all,
Thank love that list you to his mercy call.

* * * * *

XXI.

And therewith cast I down mine eye again,
Where as I saw walking under the tower,
Full secretly new comen to her pleyne,[5]
The fairest and the freshest younge flower
That e'er I saw (methought) before that hour
For which sudden abate [6] anon astert [7]
The blood of all my body to my heart.

* * * * *

XXVII.

Of her array the form if I shall write,
Toward her golden hair, and rich attire,
In fret-wise couched with pearlis white,