To Autumn

O Autumn. Laden with fruit, and stained

With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit

Beneath my shady roof, there thou may’st rest,

And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe...

... I am so sorry to do this to you, but this posy has been moved to my new website, Widdershins, and can be found in its entirety here: To Autumn