A garden saw I ful of blosmy bowes
Upon a river in a grene mede
There as ther swetnesse evermorey - now is
With floures white, blewe, yelwe, and rede,
And colde welle - stremes no thyng dede.
That swomen ful of smale fisches lighte,
With fynnes rede and scales silver-brighte.
Upon a river in a grene mede
There as ther swetnesse evermorey - now is
With floures white, blewe, yelwe, and rede,
And colde welle - stremes no thyng dede.
That swomen ful of smale fisches lighte,
With fynnes rede and scales silver-brighte.
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