Tag Archives: the natural world

I Scent the Autumn Rain

I scent the autumn rain,
Comforting. The same
Rain as fell
As when I was a younger man.
Yet nature’s plan
Is upset
For, although the rain
Is as wet
As yesteryear
I fear
That the seasons grow confused
And I am bemused
By this warmer weather.
Yes the rain
Does remain
The same
But increasing storm
And strange
Weather, warns of climate change.


The BBC retrace the walk which inspired Keats to compose his “To Autumn”

On todays “The World this Weekend”, on BBC Radio 4, there was a piece regarding John Keat’s “To Autumn”. In it a poet and a local nature expert retrace Keat’s footsteps as they walk through the countryside that inspired the composition of “To Autumn”.

To listen to the piece (its about 20 minutes into the 30 minute programme) please follow this link, https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m0008qgb. Please note, you will need to log-in to BBC sounds in order to listen or, if you don’t have an account, you will need to create one.

Below is Keat’s “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 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.


The scent of autumn is soon gone.
I shall live on
For a time
And take joy in rhyme
And the leaves
That please
As they fall from a myriad
I am glad
To forget my care
In this autumn air.
And shall learn to be
At one with leaf and tree.

A Tree Grows

A tree grows
It’s branches entwining
With another tree,
Forming a canopy
Under which pass
A lad and his lass.

Seasons pass
And sapplings grow to maturity,
While the lad and lass
We did see
Forever lie
Under sky and tree.

I Have No Wish To Leave These Dark Trees

I have no wish to leave
These dark trees.
I drink
The fresh summer air.
For a moment forget my care
And think
On Frost’s poetry,
That o’re shadows me