[New-Poetry] To Autumn
Anny Ballardini
anny.ballardini at gmail.com
Fri Sep 19 14:13:52 EDT 2008
I gan glean da garage if you gan glean my gar
On Fri, Sep 19, 2008 at 7:53 PM, <jforjames at aol.com> wrote:
>
> Can you come over and glean my garage?
> Finnegan
>
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: James Cervantes <cervantes.james at gmail.com>
> Sent: Fri, 19 Sep 2008 1:40 pm
> Subject: Re: [New-Poetry] To Autumn
>
> 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
>>
>> Poetry Library:
>> http://web.mac.com/drjazz/iWeb/Site/DGPoLibrary.html
>> ==========================================
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
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>
>
> --
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--
Anny Ballardini
http://annyballardini.blogspot.com/
http://www.fieralingue.it/modules.php?name=poetshome
http://www.moriapoetry.com/ebooks.html
I Tell You: One must still have chaos in one to give birth to a dancing
star!
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