"In 'To Autumn', Keats expresses his love of this beautiful time of year, a season that has inspired many artists before and since, including photographers."
John Keats lived only 25 years from 1795-1821, but in those short years, he made a place for himself as one of the greatest Romantic poets in the English language.
He came from humble beginnings, but a combination of private encouragement and public criticism pushed him to refine his poetic craft to the highest standard.
Many of his poems, including 'To Autumn', have been described as dignified, melodic and filled with rich imagery. He communicates a visceral joy in the beauty he saw around him, dedicating many of his poems to objects, places, and nature.
In To Autumn, Keats expresses his love of this beautiful time of year, a season that has inspired many artists before and since, including photographers...
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 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'er-brimm'd 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-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd 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 cyder-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 red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
If you'd like to enjoy more of Keats's evocative poetry, an edition of his poetry is available to read on-line. And for all his poetry and everything-you-ever-wanted-to-know-about-Keats, try the John-Keats.com site.
|
Candida Martinelli - Candida Martinelli grew up in San Francisco, California, but lived many years in Florence, Italy. As an outlet for her love of Italian culture, she set up Candida Martinelli’s Italophile Site a few years ago. It’s grown since then into a site that celebrates Italian culture for both children and adults.
Candida offers up Italian culture in a fun way, with lots of pictures, and links for those who want to learn more after her introduction to a subject. She covers everything from Italian home decorating to gardening, fashion, music and movies.
Website: Candida Martinelli’s Italophile Site
To review the Reprint Rights for this article, please go to the authors page by clicking the button below.
|
This article Copyright ©2005 - Candida Martinelli. All rights reserved. Reproduced with permission.
|
