Geoffrey Chaucer (ca. 1343-1400) from The Parliament of Fowls A garden saw I, full of blossomy boughs Upon a river, in a green mead, There as sweetness evermore enough is, With flowers white, blue, yellow, and red, And cold well-streams, nothing dead, That swimming full of small fishes light, With fins red and scales silver bright.
On every bough the birds heard I sing, With voice of angels in their harmony; Some busied themselves birds forth to bring; The little coneys to here play did hie.
And further all about I could see The dread filled roe, the buck, the hart and hind, Squirrels, and beasts small of gentle kind.
Of instruments of strings in accord Heard I so play a ravishing sweetness, That God, that maker is of all and lord, Had heard never better, as I guess.
Therewith a wind, scarcely it might be less, Made in the leaves green a noise soft Accordant to the fowls' song aloft.
Th'air of that place so a-temperate was That never was grievance of hot nor cold.
There wax also every wholesome spice and grass; No man may there wax sick nor old; Yet was there joy more a thousandfold Than man can tell; never would it be night, But always clear day to any man's sight.