Wednesday, October 25 \u201c . . . Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
\nThou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.\u201d<\/p>\n
One of the list\u2019s readers responded to Monday\u2019s post, an all-time favorite from Gerard Manley Hopkins who pretty regularly knocks me flat with wonder. The email contained John Keats\u2019 early 19th century romantic poem without comment. But he reminded me, list readers often do, of a poet I had not noticed for a while. No scolding either, as in \u201chow can you have overlooked Keats\u2019 \u201cTo Autumn\u201d! Keats worked on my imagination since the email landed. I\u2019m in his debt. I bet you will be too; a near perfect read for day three of mid-autumn bluster and rain. More than most, I think you will find reading this out loud will capture your imagination.<\/p>\n
This Friday will be filled with the university\u2019s October board meeting. Back on Monday.<\/p>\n
Have a blest weekend.<\/p>\n
john sj<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Today\u2019s Post \u201cTo Autumn\u201d John Keats<\/p>\n
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
\nClose bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
\nConspiring with him how to load and bless
\nWith fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
\nTo bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
\nAnd fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
\nTo swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
\nWith a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
\nAnd still more, later flowers for the bees,
\nUntil they think warm days will never cease,
\nFor summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.<\/p>\n
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
\nSometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
\nThee sitting careless on a granary floor,
\nThy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
\nOr on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
\nDrows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
\nSpares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
\nAnd sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
\nSteady thy laden head across a brook;
\nOr by a cyder-press, with patient look,
\nThou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.<\/p>\n
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
\nThink not of them, thou hast thy music too,\u2014
\nWhile barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
\nAnd touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
\nThen in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
\nAmong the river sallows, borne aloft
\nOr sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
\nAnd full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
\nHedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
\nThe red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
\nAnd gathering swallows twitter in the skies.<\/p>\n
31 October 1795 \u2013 23 February 1821<\/p>\n https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/John_Keats<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Wednesday, October 25 \u201c . . . Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.\u201d One of the list\u2019s readers responded to Monday\u2019s post, an all-time favorite from Gerard Manley Hopkins who pretty … Continue reading ![\"\"](\"https:\/\/sites.udmercy.edu\/poetry\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/170\/2017\/10\/John-Keats.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n