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Há 5 dias · To Autumn. I. 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.
12 de mai. de 2024 · A romantic poet John Keats who is considered his final work in “Keats 1819 odes” writes Ode. This Ode was composed in September 1819 and published in the very next year, 1820. The poem is divided into 3 stanzas with eleven lines in each of it. It describes a journey through the season from late crop maturation to harvest and the last days ...
Há 1 dia · Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star, Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about his lair; Forest on forest hung above his head. Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day. Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass,
16 de mai. de 2024 · In John Keats' poem "To Autumn," the poet personifies the season of autumn and describes its attributes, characteristics, and sensory experiences in vivid detail. Keats portrays autumn as a time of ripeness, abundance, and melancholic beauty, capturing the fleeting moments of transition between summer's warmth and winter's chill.
30 de mai. de 2024 · There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear. Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has his Summer, when luxuriously. Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves. To ruminate, and by such dreaming high. Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves. His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings.
26 de mai. de 2024 · Mw03513772: john keats / john keats / john / please put your scarf on.,j.d. salinger, raise high the roof beam, carpenters & seymour: an introduction,glass, more, poetry, see, Khosla_aru : a thing of beauty is a joy forever -john keats sid shukla forever
Há 4 dias · With a silken thread of my own hands' weaving. Sweet little red feet! Why should you die-. Why would you leave me, sweet bird! why? You lived alone in the forest tree; Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me? I kiss 'd you oft and gave you white peas; Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees? John Keats.
