From the Ape (4/1/2011)

This (edited) post comes to you via my old blog that I will probably delete soon. 

"When that Aprill with his shoures soteThe droght of Marche hath perced to the rote,Ans bathed every veyne in swich licourOf which vertu engendred in the flour;Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breethInspired hath in every holt and heethThe tendre croppes, and the yonge sonneHath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,And smale fowles maken melodye,That slepen al the night with open yë(So priketh hem N...