WEET rose of virtue and of gentleness, There saw I flouris that fresche wer of hew, Both white and red, most lustye were to seyne,† Yet leif nor flour find could I none of Rue. I doubt that Marche with his cold blastis keen IGHT as the sterne of day began to shine, Full angel-like the birdis sang their houris,¶ * Garden. + To be seen. "Hours," prayers. Star. § Pure beams. || Ere. While all in balme did branche and levis fleit. For mirth of May, with skippis and with hoppis, MORNING-A LANDSCAPE. Down through the rise a river ran, with stremis That all the lake as lamp did leme of light, The bank was green, the bruke was full of bremys, |