CCLV. Ode to Autumn [/font] | |
S[size=-1]EASON[/size] of mists and mellow fruitfulness, | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Conspiring with him how to load and bless | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, | |
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
And still more, later flowers for the bees, | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Until they think warm days will never cease; | [/font] |
For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; | [/font] |
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers: | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Steady thy laden head across a brook; | [/font] |
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day | [/font] |
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Among the river-sallows, borne aloft | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; | [/font] |
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft; | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. | [size=-2] [/size] [/font] |
Feeling sad today :'(