There sat a falcon overhead full high,
That in a pitiful voice began to cry,
That all the wood resounded mournfully.
For she had beaten herself so pitiably
With both her wings that the red glistening blood
Ran down the tree trunk whereupon she stood.
And ever in one same way she cried and shrieked,
And with her beak her body she so pricked
That there's no tiger, nor a cruel beast
That dwells in open wood or deep forest,
Would not have wept, if ever weep he could...
The pilgrimage is believed by some to have started on April 17, 1387 in Chaucer's accounting.