Ode to Autumn by John Keats
"Ode to Autumn" is an ode by Keats that is written in three-stanzas with a variable rhyme scheme. Each stanza consists of eleven lines metered in iambic pentameter. Each stanza is divided into two parts, the first part made of four lines and the second is seven. The first part consists of ABAB and the second varies between CDEDCCE and CDECDDE.
This poem is all about the great season of autumn. It talks about the end of summer and the beauty it brings to the skies, in the wind, and on the ground. It speaks about harvest time and the beautiful colors in the sky.
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Ode 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-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'erbrimmed their clammy cells. 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.
Next: When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be
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Romanticism, 18th Century
Ode, Nature, Fall, Summer