Marie De France : Chevrefoil

Lines 68-78

"The two of them were similar

To honeysuckle, which must find

A hazel, and around it bind;

When it enlaces it all around,

Both in each other are all wound.

Together they will surely thrive,

But split asunder, they’ll not live.

Quick is the hazel tree’s demise;

Quickly the honeysuckle dies.

"So with us never, belle amie,

me without you, you with me."

Gawain and the Green Knight

Lines 497-535

"For men might be merry when addled with mead

But each year, short lived, is unlike the last

And rarely resolved in the style it arrived.

So the festival finishes and a new year follows

In eternal sequence, season by season.

After lavish Christmas come the lean days of Lent

When the flesh is tested with fish and simple food.

Then the world’s weather wages war on winter:

Cold shrinks earthwards and the clouds climb;

Sun-warmed, shimmering rain comes showering

Onto meadows and fields where flowers unfurl;

Woods and grounds war a wardrobe of green;

Birds burble with life and build busily

As summer spreads, settling on slopes as

It should.

Lines 2189-2192

"For certain,” he says, “this is a soulless spot,

A ghost cathedral overgrown with grass,

The kind of kirk where they camouflaged man

Might in devotions on the devils behalf."

Canterbury Tales

Lines 1-12

"When that April with his showres soote

The droughte of March hat perced to the roote,

And bathed every veine in swich licour

Of which vertu engendred is the flowr;

Whan Zephyrus eek with his sweete breeth

Inspired Hath in every holt and heeth

The tendre croppes, and the Yonge sonne

Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne,

And small fowles maken melodye

That sleepen al the night with open ye

So priketh hem Nature in hir corages

Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages"

Sir Walter Ralegh, The Nymphs Reply to the Shepard

Lines 1552-1618

Time drives the flocks from fields to fold

When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,

And Philomel becometh dumb;

The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields

To wayward winter reckoning yields;

A honey tongue, a heart of gall,

Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,

Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies

Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten-

In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

The Tempest Act 1, Scene 2


"If by your art, my dearest father, you have

Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.

The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,

But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,

Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered

With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,

Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,

Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock

Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd.

Had I been any god of power, I would

Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere

It should the good ship so have swallow'd and

The fraughting souls within her."


"Water with berries in't, and teach me how

To name the bigger light, and how the less,

That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee

And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle,

The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile:

Cursed be I that did so! All the charms

Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!

For I am all the subjects that you have,

Which first was mine own king: and here you sty me

In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me

The rest o' the island."

Act 2, Scene 1


The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.


As if it had lungs and rotten ones.


Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen.


Here is everything advantageous to life.


True; save means to live.


Of that there's none, or little.


How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!


The ground indeed is tawny.


With an eye of green in't.


He misses not much.