Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Close bosom friend of the naturing sun,
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run
To bend with apples the mossed 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 budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er brimmed their clammy cells.
