I love the first line, "When that April with his showres soote, The drought of March hath perced to the root." It sounds so natural, i guess. It seems the writer is trying to describe the season so vividly. Chaucer talks of Zephyrus the greek wind god, who fell in love with a young man named Hyacinthus. He was jealous one day and blew a discus and it struck Hyacinthus in the head, killing him. Insane story. Maybe this is realting to the reason the people are on the pilgramage. But it is odd how the begining is somewhat like a fairy tale, like the story of Zephyrus.
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