Friday, September 29, 2006

[autumn fall] down britain's leafy lanes


As the first little chill nips at the neck, as the shadows lengthen, thoughts turn to home.

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.

Keats [to Autumn] 1820

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