Again, in The 'Cuckoo and the Nightingale', after a wakeful night, the Poet rises at dawn, and wandering forth, reaches a "laund of white and green." 'So feire oon had I nevere in bene, The grounde was grene, y poudred with daysé, The floures and the gras ilike al hie, Al grene and white, was nothing elles sene.'