John Keats<\/p>\n
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
\nClose bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
\nConspiring with him how to load and bless
\nWith fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
\nTo bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
\nAnd fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
\nTo swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
\nWith a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
\nAnd still more, later flowers for the bees,
\nUntil they think warm days will never cease,
\nFor Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.<\/p>\n
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
\nSometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
\nThee sitting careless on a granary floor,
\nThy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
\nOr on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
\nDrows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
\nSpares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
\nAnd sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
\nSteady thy laden head across a brook;
\nOr by a cyder-press, with patient look,
\nThou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.<\/p>\n
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
\nThink not of them, thou hast thy music too,–
\nWhile barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
\nAnd touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
\nThen in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
\nAmong the river sallows, borne aloft
\nOr sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
\nAnd full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
\nHedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
\nThe red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
\nAnd gathering swallows twitter in the skies.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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 … Continue reading