Geoffrey Chaucer

(c. 1343 – 25 October 1400 / London, England)

poet Geoffrey Chaucer
#142 on top 500 poets

Comments about Geoffrey Chaucer

  • Hey prakash prasad (11/3/2018 1:22:00 PM)

    Inspiring poet and philosopher

    0 person liked.
    		0 person did not like.
  • Sir Albert (9/18/2018 4:18:00 PM)

    THANKS FOREVER GREAT WORK

    1 person liked.
    		1 person did not like.
  • frank (3/15/2018 12:41:00 PM)

    i'm related to geoffrey chauser

    4 person liked.
    		5 person did not like.
  • Priyanka rathore (2/20/2018 5:51:00 AM)

    Poem kaa Hindi translation ho to batto

    2 person liked.
    		5 person did not like.
  • Alem Hailu G/kristos Alem Hailu G/kristos (6/9/2016 12:20:00 AM)

    Yes we have to learn to tame our tongues

    8 person liked.
    		10 person did not like.
  • Julia Griffin Julia Griffin (5/17/2014 5:28:00 AM)

    Some of his work I really love, this one just isn't a favourite, , though his poetry has made me begin to research more about him, brilliant man, very descriptive always

    29 person liked.
    		17 person did not like.
  • Jackie Gerhardy (5/17/2008 11:33:00 PM)

    Chaucer really was a bellwheter for his time!

    His work devles deep into characters and sculpts them beautifully for his readers.

    58 person liked.
    		70 person did not like.
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Best Poem of Geoffrey Chaucer

Rondel Of Merciless Beauty

Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;
Their beauty shakes me who was once serene;
Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen.

Only your word will heal the injury
To my hurt heart, while yet the wound is clean -
Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;
Their beauty shakes me who was once serene.

Upon my word, I tell you faithfully
Through life and after death you are my queen;
For with my death the whole truth shall be seen.
Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;
Their beauty shakes me who was once serene;
Straight through my ...

Read the full of Rondel Of Merciless Beauty

Virelay

Alone walking
In thought plaining,
And sore sighing;
All desolate,
Me rememb'ring
Of my living;
My death wishing
Both early and late.

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