Saturday, September 26


John Keats Tombstone

I love autumn in Ontario. One glance at the colourful foliage in autumn makes you believe that, although autumn is considered to be the middle-age of the four-seasons, it is as glorious as any season of the year. There is something about autumn that has everything to do with the majestic turning of the leaves. And what turning is that! If autumn were not as colourful as it is in Canada, then I would have had found the winters absolutely unbearable.

And now, hear John Keats’ To Autumn:

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 ground, 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.

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