[New-Poetry] To Autumn

[James Cervantes]

I hired a gleaning lady.
- Jim

On Fri, Sep 19, 2008 at 9:22 AM, David Graham <grahamd at ripon.edu> wrote:

> Here's a factoid courtesy of Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac.  Today is
> the very date on which Keats wrote "To Autumn."  Everyone should go outdoors
> immediately and do some gleaning.
>
> *TO AUTUMN*
>
>                           1.
> 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.
>
>                          2.
> 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.
>
>                          3.
> 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.
>
> Keats, John. 1884. *Poetical Works*.
>
>
>
> ========================================
> David Graham
> grahamd at ripon.edu
>
> Home Page:
> http://web.mac.com/drjazz
>
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