How it begins
When that Phebus his chaire of gold so hie Hadde whirled up the sterrie sky alofte, And in the Boole was entred certainely: When shoures sweet of raine discended softe, Causing the ground, fele times & ofte, Up for to give many an wholesome aire, And every plaine was eke yclothed faire With newe green, and maketh smalle floures To springen here and there in field & mede; So very good & wholsome be the shoures, That it renueth that was old and dede In winter time; and out of every sede Springeth the hearbe, so that every wight Of this season wexeth ful glad and light.
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