To Autumn - Keats

[Arcadian]

Hello All,

We all know that Keats was a romantic poet and many think his poem: To Autumn, is very close to poetry perfection. Unfortunately he died of consumption at the tragic age of 25.

He was savaged; mocked, laughed at by his critics -- so did he lose the will to live ?

You can't blame Goethe who once said: "Kill the dog, he is a reviewer".

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-eaves 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'erbrimm'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,
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 red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

[David]

Arco, this is mind-boggling. After months of silence you reappear, in the dead of winter, praising a poem about autumn when it's actually summer in your part of the world. Verily, you boggle my mind.

It is, of course, a fantastic poem. Quite influential for me, in a way - it was the first poem the senior class at our primary school had to learn by heart. I've learned a lot by heart since then, even - years after first forgetting it - this one. It is wonderful.

Nice to know you're still about, anyway. Compliments of the season to you.

Cheers

David

[Arcadian]

Thanks David,

An unfortunate family matter kept me away ...

Don't be mind boggled, I simply posted something that I admired.

Congrats on your promotion to MOD, now would you care to give us reasons why you love this poem ? - a textual analysis perhaps, now that you are a MOD ? : the poetic devices employed therein

LOL -- just kidding man


cheers
Arco

[David]

Textual analysis? That's not in the job description. I'm just here to make sure people behave and treat each other nice.

Just think of us as genial bouncers.

[barrie]

Just think of us as genial bouncers

What's a genial, and how do you bounce one?

[David]

A genie is a magical Arabian spirit, and should never be bounced, even in fun. But please don't call me Al.

[barrie]

But please don't call me Al.

I thought you said you were called Al of Man.

Evil djhinn