Monday, September 3, 2012

to Autumn By John Keats!



 Image Credit: Google.com



 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-ever run;
and fill all fruit with ripeness to the core,
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shell.
With a street kernel, to set budding move,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cells.

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