Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1343–1400) is widely known as the “Father of English poetry” because he was one of the first major writers to use Middle English instead of Latin or French. His poems helped shape the English literary tradition and made poetry accessible to ordinary people.
Chaucer’s most famous work is The Canterbury Tales, a collection of verse stories told by a diverse group of pilgrims traveling to Canterbury. Through these characters—such as the Knight, the Wife of Bath, the Miller, and the Pardoner—Chaucer presents a vivid picture of medieval English society, blending humor, realism, satire, and moral reflection. Each tale reflects the personality and social class of its storyteller, making the work both entertaining and socially insightful.
Chaucer’s poetry is admired for its rich characterization, narrative skill, and musical verse. He skillfully used rhyme royal and iambic pentameter, forms that later became central to English poetry. His language is lively and expressive, often mixing comedy with serious themes like love, greed, faith, and human hypocrisy.
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Other notable poems by Chaucer include Troilus and Criseyde, a tragic love story influenced by classical and Italian sources, and The Book of the Duchess, an early dream-vision poem.
Overall, Geoffrey Chaucer’s poems combine storytelling, poetic beauty, and social commentary, making him one of the most influential poets in English literature.
A Balade Of Complaint
Compleyne ne koude, ne might myn herte never,My peynes halve, ne what torment I have,
Though that I sholde in your presence ben ever,
Myn hertes lady, as wisly he me save
That Bountee made, and Beautee list to grave
In your persone, and bad hem bothe in-fere
Ever t'awayte, and ay be wher ye were.
As wisly he gye alle my joyes here
As I am youres, and to yow sad and trewe,
And ye, my lyf and cause of my gode chere,
And deeth also, whan ye my peynes newe,
My worldes joye, whom I wol serve and sewe,
Myn heven hool, and al my suffisaunce,
Whom for to serve is set al my plesaunce.
Beseching yow in my most humble wyse
T'accepte in worth this litel pore dyte,
And for my trouthe my servyce not despyse,
Myn observaunce eke have not in despyte,
Ne yit to longe to suffren in this plyte;
I yow beseche, myn hertes lady, here,
Sith I yow serve, and so wil yeer by yere.
A Cook
They had a cook with them who stood aloneFor boiling chicken with a marrow-bone,
Sharp flavouring powder and a spice for savour.
He could distinguish London ale by flavour,
And he could roast and boil and seethe and fry,
Make good thick soup and bake a tasty pie...
As for blancmange, he made it with the best.
Good Counsel of Chaucer
Flee from the press, and dwell with soothfastness;Suffice thee thy good, though it be small;
For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness,
Press hath envy, and weal is blent o'er all,
Savour no more than thee behove shall;
Read well thyself, that other folk canst read;
And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.
Paine thee not each crooked to redress,
In trust of her that turneth as a ball;
Great rest standeth in little business:
Beware also to spurn against a nail;
Strive not as doth a crocke with a wall;
Deeme thyself that deemest others' deed,
And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.
What thee is sent, receive in buxomness;
The wrestling of this world asketh a fall;
Here is no home, here is but wilderness.
Forth, pilgrim! Forthe beast, out of thy stall!
Look up on high, and thank thy God of all!
Weive thy lust, and let thy ghost thee lead,
And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.
Roundel
Now welcome Summer with thy sunne soft,That hast this winter`s weathers overshake,
And driven away the longe nighties black.
Saint Valentine, that art full high aloft,
Thus singen smalle fowles for thy sake:
Now welcome Summer with tye sunne soft,
That hast this winter`s weathers overshake.
Well have they cause for to gladden oft,
Wince each of them recovered hath his make.
Full blissful may they singe when they wake:
Now welcome Summer with they sunne soft,
That has this winters weathers overshake,
And driven away the longe nighties black.
Since I From Love
I ne'er think to be in his prison ta'en;
Since I am free, I count him not a bean.
He may answer, and saye this and that;
I do no force, I speak right as I mean;
Since I from Love escaped am so fat.
Love hath my name struck out of his slat,
And he is struck out of my bookes clean,
For ever more; there is none other mean;
Since I from Love escaped am so fat.
Lak of Stedfastnesse
That mannes word was obligacioun,
And now it is so fals and deceivable
That word and deed, as in conclusioun,
Ben nothing lyk, for turned up-so-doun
Is al this world for mede and wilfulnesse,
That al is lost for lak of stedfastnesse.
What maketh this world to be so variable
But lust that folk have in dissensioun?
For among us now a man is holde unable,
But if he can by som collusioun
Don his neighbour wrong or oppressioun.
What causeth this but wilful wrecchednesse,
That al is lost for lak of stedfastnesse?
Trouthe is put doun, resoun is holden fable,
Vertu hath now no dominacioun;
Pitee exyled, no man is merciable.
Through covetyse is blent discrecioun.
The world hath mad a permutacioun
Fro right to wrong, fro trouthe to fikelnesse,
That al is lost for lak of stedfastnesse.
O prince, desyre to be honourable,
Cherish thy folk and hate extorcioun.
Suffre nothing that may be reprevable
To thyn estat don in thy regioun.
Shew forth thy swerd of castigacioun,
Dred God, do law, love trouthe and worthinesse,
And wed thy folk agein to stedfastnesse.
