Chaucer

When in April the sweet showers fall
And pierce the drought of March to the root, and all
The veins are bathed in liquor of such power
As brings about the engendering of the flower
When also Zephyrus with his sweet breath
Exhales an air in every grove and heath
Upon the tender shoots, and the young sun
His half-course in the sign of the Ram has run,
And the small fowl are making melody
That sleep away the night with open eye
(So nature pricks them and their heart engages)
Then people long to go on pilgrimages
And palmers long to seek the stranger strands
Of far-off saints, hallowed in sundry lands,
And specially, from every shire's end
In England, down to Canterbury they wend

Chaucer really was a timeless author. When rereading The Canterbury Tales, it's amazing how much of his discerning witticisms hide a deeper moral truth that is still relevant today. It's also a bit sad that he is still so relevant, as that means human foibles haven't really changed since the 1300s.