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-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.