TO AUTUMN

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and

stain’d

With the blood of the grape, pass

not, but sit

Beneath my shady roof; there thou

may’st rest,

And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh

pipe,

And all the daughters of the year

shall dance!

Sing now the lusty song of fruits and

 flowers.

“The narrow bud opens her beauties

 to The sun, and love runs in her

thrilling veins;

Blossoms hang round the brows of

Morning,

and Flourish down the bright cheek

of modest Eve,

Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth

into singing,

And feather’d clouds strew flowers

round her head.

“The spirits of the air live in the

smells

Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light,

 roves round

The gardens, or sits singing in the

trees.

” Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he

sat,

Then rose, girded himself, and o’er

the bleak

Hills fled from our sight; but left his

 golden load.

wILLIAM bLAKE

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4 thoughts on “TO AUTUMN

  1. Beautiful picture to enhance the wonderful poetry! But why has Autumn come so early? Could he not have waited, so Winter is fast on his tail!

    Susan

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