John Lydgate: The Complaint of the Black Knight with When by Divine Deliberation (Page 4 of 28)
(p.112) Wpon the herbes in the grene meide
And that the floures off many diuerse hew
Wpon thare stalkes gonnen for to spreide
And for to splay out thair leves in breide
Ayenes the sonne golde burnede in his spere
That doune to thame cast his bemes clere.
And by a ryuere con I furth costey
Of watter cler as berial or cristalle
Til at the last I fond a lytil wey
Touart a park enclosyt wyth a walle
In compas round and by a gate small
Quho so that wolde frely myght gone
In till this park wallit wyth grene stone
And In I went to here the briddes song
Quhiche in branchis and in plane val
So loud sond that all the londe rong
Lyke as it schulde shewir in pecis smale
And as me thought that the nyghtgale
Wyth so grete myght hyr wice gan out breste
Ryght as hir hert for loue wolde to brest
The suyle was pleyne smoth and wounder soft
Al ouer spradde wyth tapitis that nature
Hadde mayd hyrselue siluered eke aloft
Wyth bewis grene the flouris for to cure
That in thare beaute they mow long endure
From all assaut off phebus fervent fere
Quhiche in his spere so hoote schene & clere
The eyre attemper and the smoth wynde
Off phebus among the blosummes quhite
