“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness…”

It seems fitting, after the beautiful photos I found on my morning run, that we should have some poetry. How about a little Keats? Just a little–

To Autumn

John Keats, 17951821
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.

user looking out
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