Ode to Autumn by John Keats

TO AUTUMN

Season of mists and mellow fruitfullness
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 moss'd cottage-trees.

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core:


To swell the gourd, to 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.