“I, Gonzalo de Bercéo, in the gentle summer-tide, Wending upon a pilgrimage, came to a meadow’s side; All green was it and beautiful, with flowers far and wide, A pleasant spot, I ween, wherein the traveller might abide. Flowers with the sweetest odors filled all the sunny air, And not alone refreshed the sense, but stole the mind from care; On every side a fountain gushed, whose waters pure and fair Ice-cold beneath the summer sun, but warm in winter were. There on the thick and shadowy trees, amid the foliage green, Were the fig and the pomegranate, the pear and apple seen, And other fruits of various kinds, the tufted leaves between; None were unpleasant to the taste and none decayed, I ween. The verdure of the meadow green, the odor of the flowers,