Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
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.
John Keats
Ode to Autumn
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
John Keats
Ode to Autumn
Be a bunch of sweeties,
Shelia :)
