S e a s o n
of
mists
and
f
u
i
t
f
u
l
n
e
s
s
C
l
o
s
e
bosom-friend
of
the
maturing
s
u
n;
Conspiring
with
him
how
to
load
and
b l e s s
W
i
t
h
fruit
the
vines
that
round
the
thatch-eves
r
u
n;
T
o
bend
with
apples
the
moss'd
c o t t a g e - t r e e s,
A
n
d
fill
all
fruit
with
ripeness
to
the
c
o
r
e;
T o
swell
the
gourd,
and
plump
the
hazel
s h e l l s
W
i
t
h
a
sweet
kernel;
to
set
budding
m
o
r
e,
A n d
still
more,
later
flowers
for
the
b
e
e
s,
U n t i l
they
think
warm
days
will
never
c
e
a
s
e,
F o r
summer
has
o'erbrimm'd
their
clammy
e l l s .
W
h
o
hath
not
seen
thee
oft
amid
thy
s t o r e ?
S o m e t i m e s
whoever
seeks
abroad
may
f
r
i
n
d
T h e e
sitting
careless
on
a
granary
f l o o r,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing w i n d;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound a s l e e p,
hair soft-lifted by the winnowing w i n d;
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy h o o k
Spares the next swath and all its twined f l o w e r s:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost k e e p
Steady thy laden head across a b r o o k;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient l o o k,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by h o u r s.
W h e r e
a r e
t h e
s o n g s
o f
s p r i n g ?
A y,
W h e r e
a r e
t h e y ?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music t o o, —
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying d a y,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy h u e;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats m o u r n
Among the river sallows, borne a l o f t
Or sinking as the light wind lives or d i e s;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly b o u r n;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble s o f t
T h e
r e d - b r e a s t
w h i s t l e s
f r o m
a
g a r d e n - c r o f t;
A n d
g a t h e r i n g
s w a l l o w s
t w i t t e r
i n
t h e
s k i e s.