Now welcome summer, with thy sunnes soft,
That hast these winter weathers overshake
Saint Valentine, thou art full high on loft,
Which driv’st away the longe nightes blake;*          *black
Thus singe smalle fowles for thy sake:
Well have they cause for to gladden oft,
Since each of them recover’d hath his make;*        *mate
Full blissful may they sing when they awake…. (maine.edu)

—Geoffrey Chaucer (1343?-1400)