Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
The opening lines of this poem, one of Keats’s most popular works, have stayed in my mind since college days. It seemed a good poem to revisit as Autumn draws near. He wrote it at the age of 24, a year before his death. If you want a quick revision of Keats check out
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Keats
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Nice to read a poem where twitter meant twitter…Though I hate Autumn, personally, as it means another hideous Canberra winter is icumen in for ten months or so. It’s a lovely poem to choose though Helen.
Yes there is that side of it
It never grows old, does it? No matter how many times or how often we read it. Thank you for posting it, to remind me how lovely it is.
Thanks Melissa,
yes it’s interesting that!
Whenever I read this poem the scents and sounds of Autumn come to mind. I can imagine crunching through the newly fallen leaves as the scents of the rich earth waft up to my nostrils. The poem brings back happy memories of walking through Autumn woods with my grandfather as a child. Thanks for posting, Kevin
Glad you enjoyed it Kevin. It is late autumn here now in NZ…lots of scrunchy leaves!