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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 a 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 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 Letras de cancionesWhere 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 From Letras Mania