Notes &
On the banks of the Mighty Red Cedar, I recite the prologue to the Canterbury Tales in Middle English, as it was taught to me by my 10th grade English teacher.
When April with his showers sweet with fruit
The drought of March has pierced unto the root
And bathed each vein with liquor that has power
To generate therein and sire the flower;
When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,
Quickened again, in every holt and heath,
The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun
Into the Ram one half his course has run,
