To September, To Autumn

It’s September. Autumn is right around the corner—if it’s not already here. In Michigan, it’s starting to get chilly, and the leaves on the trees are beginning to change. With the beginning of Autumn comes school starting again, cozy sweaters, crisp air, and the desire for hot drinks, while summer becomes a pretty, but faded memory that seems far away. I know we’re already halfway done with September, but it still seemed fitting that we start our new Poem of the Month series with September, the start of a new season.

Our poem this month is "To Autumn" by John Keats. It was published in 1820, almost 200 years ago. I know, that sounds terrifying; but don’t think of this poem as work, or school, or something that you dread. Instead, let the words wash over you. You can even have the poem read to you here. The language sounds old, I know, but it makes the autumn seem so romantic, so beautiful. That’s why I picked this poem for us. Take in the words, and sounds, and song of this poem without trying to determine its divine meaning. And if poetry isn't really your thing, I challenge you to at least read the first stanza and tell me it’s not beautiful. This poem is gorgeous.

To Autumn

John Keats

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

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-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

After reading this poem, I always feel so cozy and warm. It's as if the imagery Keats plays with becomes real as soon as I read his words. If we were in school doing some poetry assignment we'd discuss the poetic form, metaphor, and underlying meaning. Instead, we are talking about a pretty poem and how it makes us feel. I, for one, don't particularly like summer. Yes, the idea of it is wonderful: sunshine, time off school, and vacation. However, it always makes my stomach churn. The heat and humidity, even in Michigan, make me slow and sluggish. But as soon as autumn rolls around, I get excited. The atmosphere seems to change. Everything seems to become new, similar to a second spring in a weird way.

Autumn is the beginning of school, but with the autumn comes something close to magic. It’s like how you can feel Christmas in the air, if that's what you celebrate in the winter months. For the rest of this September, I challenge you to find the magic in the autumn. Take a walk as the colors start to change in the trees. Snuggle up with a good book and your coziest sweater. Read some poetry such as this one, or something completely different. Hopefully, this poem helped you find a spark.

. . .

What did you think? Let us know in the comments!

You can find the full poem here as well as tons of other resources!

. . .

The English Society

#september #poemofthemonth