Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne soft{.e},
That hast this wintr{.e}s wedr{.e}s overshak{.e},
And driven away the long{.e} nyght{.e}s blak{.e}!

Saynt Valentyn, that art ful hy on-lofte,
Thus syngen smal{.e} foul{.e}s for thy sak{.e}:
Now welcome, somer, with thy sonn{.e} soft{.e},
That hast this wintr{.e}s wedr{.e}s overshak{.e}.

Wel han they caus{.e} for to gladen oft{.e},
Sith ech of hem recover{.e}d hath hys mak{.e};
Ful blissful mowe they syng{.e} when they wak{.e}:
Now welcome, somer, with thy sonn{.e} soft{.e}
That hast this wintr{.e}s wedr{.e}s overshak{.e}
And driven away the long{.e} nyght{.e}s blak{.e}!

Geoffrey Chaucer

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-parlement-of-fowls/