We Long To Go On Pilgrimages

Doc, yes, marching is old, very old, you might even say olde. But we're lacing up our high-heeled sneakers. We're ready to go. And this is the season, so don't miss the audio. See you soon in sundry lands.

Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye,
That slepen al the night with open yë
(So priketh hem nature in hir corages):
Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
(And palmers for to seken straunge strondes)
To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelonde, to Caunterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke.