- Editor's Selection of Poems (To Autumn) by John Keats
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28 October, 2012
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Editor's Selection of Poems
To Autumn

by John Keats

          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.

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