All ripens and rots

After þe sesoun of somer wyth þe soft wyndeȝ
Quen Ȝeferus syfleȝ hymself on sedeȝ and erbeȝ,
Wela wynne is þe wort þat waxes þeroute,
When þe donkande dewe dropeȝ of þe leueȝ,
To bide a blysful blusch of þe bryȝt sunne.
Bot þen hyȝes heruest, and hardenes hym sone,
Warneȝ hym for þe wynter to wax ful rype;
He dryues wyth droȝt þe dust for to ryse,
Fro þe face of þe folde to flyȝe ful hyȝe;
Wroþe wynde of þe welkyn wrasteleȝ with þe sunne,
Þe leueȝ lancen fro þe lynde and lyȝten on þe grounde,
And al grayes þe gres þat grene watȝ ere;
Þenne al rypeȝ and roteȝ þat ros vpon fyrst,
And þus ȝirneȝ þe ȝere in ȝisterdayez mony,
And wynter wyndez aȝayn, as þe worlde askeȝ,
no fage,
Til Meȝelmas mone
Watȝ cumen wyth wynter wage;
Þen þenkkeȝ Gawan ful sone
Of his anious uyage.

The ‘Pearl’ Poet. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. II 516-535