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Geoffrey Chaucer - The Parlement of Fowls
Work rating: Medium

     Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne soft{.e},
    That hast this wintr{.e}s wedr{.e}s overshak{.e},
    And driven away the long{.e} nyght{.e}s blak{.e}!

     Saynt Valentyn, that art ful hy on-lofte,
    Thus syngen smal{.e} foul{.e}s for thy sak{.e}:
       Now welcome, somer, with thy sonn{.e} soft{.e},
       That hast this wintr{.e}s wedr{.e}s overshak{.e}.

     Wel han they caus{.e} for to gladen oft{.e},
    Sith ech of hem recover{.e}d hath hys mak{.e};
   Ful blissful mowe they syng{.e} when they wak{.e}:
      Now welcome, somer, with thy sonn{.e} soft{.e}
      That hast this wintr{.e}s wedr{.e}s overshak{.e}
      And driven away the long{.e} nyght{.e}s blak{.e}!
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