Ode to Autumn

Seasons of mists and mellow

fruitfulness,

close bossom-friend of the maturing sun:

Conspiring with him how to load

and bless

With fruits the vines that round the

thatch-eves run.

-Keats

Childe Harold

There is a pleasure in the pathless

woods,

There is rapture on the lonely shore,

There is society, where none intrudes,

By the deep sea, and the music in its roar:

I love not man the less, but Nature

more,

From these our interviews, in which

I steal

From all I may be, or have been before,

To mingle with the Universe, and feel

What i cannot express, yet cannot

conceal

-Lord Byron

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at one I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.