Ode To Autumn

12Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

13Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

14Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

15Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

16Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,

17Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

18Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;

19And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

20Steady thy laden head across a brook;

21Or by a cider-press, with patient look,

22Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

23Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

24Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — -

25While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

26And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

27Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn

28Among the river sallows, borne aloft

29Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

30And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

31Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

32The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,

33And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.