It is the truth that some few years have passed
Since of this observation I wrote last
And marked how lines bespoke such showers sweet
As rise in spring. I then still thought it meet
That I should speak as with authority
And not as penitent, making a plea.
Now, though the Ram is not quite halfway through
The course it runs, and it is not as true
That people long to go on pilgrimages
As they once were, the season still engages
Thoughts of reverdie as flowers bloom
Brighter far than any painted room
And many mount on wheels to pass them by
And marvel at the ground-held sunset sky.

Though I am not the greatest of Geoffreys, I can still write well on your behalf, if you would have me!

Grace yet remains in the giving of gold
To gentle the heat and ward off the cold
For those who know now they were wrong to be bold
Give yet again, and grace again hold!