November by John Clare

Sybil of months, and worshipper of winds,I love thee, rude and boisterous as thou art;And scraps of joy my wandering ever findsMid thy uproarious madness—when the startOf sudden tempests stirs the forest leavesInto hoarse fury, till the shower set freeStills the huge swells. Then […]

To Autumn by John Keats

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 […]