Geoffrey Chaucer

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

Geoffrey Chaucer Poems

41. Troilus And Criseyde: Book 03 1/13/2003
42. Troilus And Criseyde: Book 05 1/13/2003
43. Troilus And Criseyde: Book 04 1/13/2003
44. Proverbs Of Chaucer 12/31/2002
45. Troilus And Criseyde: Book 01 1/13/2003
46. Controlling the Tongue - 3/25/2016
47. The Parlement Of Fowls 1/1/2004
48. The House Of Fame 5/14/2001
49. Anelida And Arcite 5/13/2001
50. Virelay 12/31/2002
51. A Rondel Of Merciless Beauty - The Original 4/5/2010
52. Chaucer's Prophecy 12/31/2002
53. L'Envoy Of Chaucer To Bukton 12/31/2002
54. Chaucers Wordes Unto Adam 5/13/2001
55. An Abc 5/13/2001
56. Balade 1/4/2003
57. La Priere De Nostre Dame 12/31/2002
58. The Love Unfeigned 1/4/2003
59. Proverbs 5/13/2001
60. Merciles Beaute 1/4/2003
61. Book Of The Duchesse 5/13/2001
62. Against Women Unconstant 12/31/2002
63. The Canterbury Tales 5/13/2001
64. Lak Of Stedfastnesse 5/13/2001
65. A Ballad Sent To King Richard 12/31/2002
66. Roundel 12/31/2002
67. Good Counsel Of Chaucer 12/31/2002
68. Gentilesse 5/13/2001
69. Chaucer's Words To His Scrivener 1/3/2003
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,

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