In the autumn, our gardens are mellow and yet the end of the growing season is bittersweet. As we work in our gardens and put them to bed, we are reminded of some of our favorite poetry.
This poem is a part of the well known Ode to Autumn by John Keats, who lived from 1795-1821.
Ode to Autumn
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,
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'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,
Or on a half reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed 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 cider- press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
