Seattle, Washington, United States
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Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Just for a Moment...

Just for a moment, I'd like to spontaneously share something with you. This poem, by one of the world's most infallible poets, taught me to love, write about, and believe in the autumn like children believe in Santa Claus. Don't you just adore it? Anyway, I just wanted to take a second to show you all what's on my mind as the leaves start drifting downward and the wind chaps our cheeks.

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'er-brimmed their clammy cell.

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.

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,
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;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

-John Keats, 1819


  1. I had a professor say that this was one of two perfect poems in the 19th Century.

    (Claus, not clause, by the way. LOL)

  2. I had a poetry collection tell me the exact same.

  3. I am waiting for someone to ask, "What was the other perfect 19th Century poem?"

  4. Okay, I'll take the bait. What was it??