Geoffrey Chaucer

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

Geoffrey Chaucer Poems

41. A Cook 4/5/2010
42. Troilus And Criseyde: Book 05 1/13/2003
43. Troilus And Criseyde: Book 04 1/13/2003
44. Troilus And Criseyde: Book 01 1/13/2003
45. Controlling the Tongue - 3/25/2016
46. The Parlement Of Fowls 1/1/2004
47. Proverbs Of Chaucer 12/31/2002
48. Anelida And Arcite 5/13/2001
49. Virelay 12/31/2002
50. The House Of Fame 5/14/2001
51. Chaucer's Prophecy 12/31/2002
52. L'Envoy Of Chaucer To Bukton 12/31/2002
53. A Rondel Of Merciless Beauty - The Original 4/5/2010
54. The Love Unfeigned 1/4/2003
55. Balade 1/4/2003
56. Chaucers Wordes Unto Adam 5/13/2001
57. La Priere De Nostre Dame 12/31/2002
58. Proverbs 5/13/2001
59. Book Of The Duchesse 5/13/2001
60. An Abc 5/13/2001
61. Against Women Unconstant 12/31/2002
62. Lak Of Stedfastnesse 5/13/2001
63. The Canterbury Tales 5/13/2001
64. Merciles Beaute 1/4/2003
65. A Ballad Sent To King Richard 12/31/2002
66. Gentilesse 5/13/2001
67. Good Counsel Of Chaucer 12/31/2002
68. Chaucer's Words To His Scrivener 1/3/2003
69. Roundel 12/31/2002
70. Fortune 5/13/2001
71. A Balade Of Complaint 5/13/2001
72. Truth 12/31/2002
73. A Ballad Of Gentleness 12/31/2002
74. Rondel Of Merciless Beauty 12/31/2002
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

Gentilesse

The firste stok, fader of gentilesse --
What man that desireth gentil for to be
Must folowe his trace, and alle his wittes dresse
Vertu to love and vyces for to flee.
For unto vertu longeth dignitee
And noght the revers, saufly dar I deme,
Al were he mytre, croune, or diademe.

This firste stok was ful of rightwisnesse,

[Report Error]