Sunday, October 08, 2006

Sunday again and another poem

This is one of the finest of poems written in the English language by one of the great romantic poets. It is melancholy, full of the sights sounds and scenes of autumn and lies heavy on the senses. Written on September 19 1819 after a walk John Keats shows us vividly the change of the season – the fullness and ripening of it all.
He was, as romantic poets were, concerned with nature and the human relationship to it and it is sad that although he wrote this wonderful celebration at the age of 24 he died a year after.



Ode to Autumn by J. Keats

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.

The digital artwork above is by Robin Rowlands, entitled: Autumn Cycle


Daniel is away back to university. He left only half an hour ago and l miss him already.
This poem in its way is a celebration of progress ~Keats himself seems to totally accept the natural world, a mixture of ripening, fulfillment, dying, and death. It makes me think of the seasons of life; it makes me wonder where l will meet Autumn in my life. As for Daniel, he is just at the beginning- lucky lad.

6 comments:

Tammy said...

just beautiful!!!
:-D

Sue said...

This poem does indeed bring to mind the seasons of life. All part of a wonderous cycle of beginnings and ends.
It's so insightful considering his tender age of 24..
I know how much you must miss Daniel, but as you said you have your little blessing Sam to keep your mind (and self)quite happy and busy!
{{{hugs}}}

Hliza said...

Daniel must have missed you too..

PEA said...

I had never read this poem before and I must say it is certainly a beautiful one! I know how hard it is to have Daniel living away from home...I still miss my boys an awful lot and that's why I love and cherish any time they can come home for a weekend:-) Hugs xoxo

Kati said...

This has been a favorite poem for ages. Thanks for bringing it to mind again. I'm enjoying one of the most glorious autumn days right now, a shower of golden leaves falling.

Kate said...

Your poem " Ode To Autumn, was the first time I have read it!! O my Gosh , Where have I been!! Today is our Canadian Thanksgiving. We have turkey and stuffing, the whole bit. Fall is my favorite time of the year, I love the different shades of color, it also tells me were moving on to another phase of our lives....and so it continues!

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