Verse > Anthologies > The World’s Best Poetry > Vol. V. Nature
Bliss Carman, et al., eds.  The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume V. Nature.  1904.
III. The Seasons
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-eaves run—
To bend with apples the mossed cottage trees,        5
  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,        10
    For summer has o’er-brimmed 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;        15
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
  Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
    Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers;
And sometime like a gleaner thou dost keep
  Steady thy laden head across a brook;        20
  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,        25
  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;        30
  Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
  The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

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