‘Tell me not here, it needs not saying’ is probably A. Housman (1859-1936), who elsewhere wrote ‘I love no leafless land.’ Yet he wrote about leafless lands, and the sense of loss they convey, poignantly time and time again – and no better than here, in this poem from his 1922 volume Last Poems. Housman, ‘ Tell me not here, it needs not saying’.Īutumn was the season of choice for A. Follow the link above to read all of Rossetti’s poem.Ħ. Spoken by a woman who has chosen to ostracise herself from society and her friends – perhaps, as some critics have suggested, because she is a fallen woman – ‘From Sunset to Star Rise’ uses autumnal imagery and the disappearing summer to reflect on fallenness and sin as part of human nature. This sonnet is not one of the best-known poems by Christina Rossetti (1830-94), but it’s a real gem of a poem. Lest you with me should shiver on the wold, Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot,ĭwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not:Ī sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot. Christina Rossetti, ‘ From Sunset to Star Rise’. So Keats wrote in a letter of September 1819, hinting at the origins of ‘To Autumn’ and the circumstances of its composition, while Keats was living in Winchester, Hampshire, in southern England.įollow the link above to read the whole of Keats’s classic autumn poem, and learn more about these allusions.ĥ. This struck me so much in my Sunday’s walk that I composed upon it.’ Somehow, a stubble-field looks warm - in the same way that some pictures look warm. ![]() Really, without joking, chaste weather - Dian skies - I never liked stubble-fields so much as now - Aye better than the chilly green of the Spring. 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.‘How beautiful the season is now - How fine the air. "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. ![]() His words depict the haunting beauty in the quiet winding down into winter. Keats ends his poem evoking the closing of the season and finding a parallel in the beauty of an early-evening sunset. The poem is a rich description of the beauty of autumn that focuses on both its lush and sensual fruitfulness and the melancholy hint of shorter days. John Keats' 1820 ode to the fall season is one of the great classics of the poetic movement of Romanticism.
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