Sunday, October 4, 2015

An Autumnal Garden


 Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bossom-friend of the maturing sun;

 Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With flowers the vines that round the urn's edge run.

And still appear more later flowers for the bees

 Until they think warm days will never cease.

 Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music, too,

 That chimes a fruitfulness of rosy hue

And in the garden with all the twined flowers
It holds its tune for hours by hours.
Conceived by Keats
Corrupted by Candy




3 comments:

Anne Featonby said...

Love the ghost pumpkins.....

Kristen Rettig said...

Is that your garden? It's beautiful. Esp love the hydrangeas surrounding the white pumpkins.

Candice said...

Hi Kristen,
Sorry for my tardy response. Yes, this is our garden. Glad you like it. Six years ago it had a few plants around the perimeter and a clothes line strung from the house to a maple tree.