Keats, Autumn.txt

	[if you use this as a sample for the Scandroid,
 	you'll find that you need to edit dictionary
 	entries for these words at least: fruitfulness
 	(FRUIT ful ness), o'erbrimmed (o'er BRIMMED),
 	winnowing (WIN now ing), barred (BARRED), and
 	gathering (GATH er ing)]
	
	
			To Autumn

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 twinèd 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. 

						John Keats