To Autumn ~ John Keats

As I recently wrote a blog post about feeling cold, I thought I'd follow on with a weather inspired poem. 

It's not my poem, (obviously) it's, To Autumn by John Keats. 

To Autumn ~ John Keats 1795-1821

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, 

Drowsed 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 cider-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 redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, 

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Ahhh, Keats ~ how I love thee. :) 

Do you love Keats?