Imagery:
Whan I had smelled the savour swote, / No wille hadde I fro thens yit go, / But somdel neer it went I tho / To take it.
He took an arowe fu sharply whet, / And in his bowe whan it was set, / He streight up to his ere drough / The stronge bowe that was so tough, / And shet at me so wonder smerte, / That through myn eye unto myn heart / The takel smoot, and depe it wente... Whan I was hurt thus in that stounde, / I fel doun plat unto the grounde.
The Romance of the Rose