Chaucer

By Craven Langstroth Betts (1853–1941)

(Died October 25, 1400)

THE HEART of Merrie England sang in thee,

Dan Chaucer, blithest of the sons of Morn!

How from that dim and mellow distance borne

Come floating down thy measures pure and free,

Minstrel of Pilgrim pleasaunce! Pagentry,

And Revel, blowing from his drinking-horn

The froth of malt, and Love that dwells forlorn—

England shall live in these that live through thee!

Thine is the jocund Springtime;—winsome May,

Crowned with her daisies, wooed thee, clerkly wight!

The breath of pastoral cheer is in thy lay,

And in thy graver verse thy nation’s might.

O, Pan-pipe, blown at England’s break of day,

Re-echo through her noon thy clear delight!