 |
|
William Hilton ο νεότερος (1786-1839), πορτρέτο του John Keats (1795-1821), ελαιογραφία, περ. 1822, National Portrait Gallery, Λονδίνο. |
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.
John Keats, “To Autumn”, 1819.
Περισσότερα:
Με
αφορμή τον τόμο Τζων Κητς – Ποίηση. Εκλογή από το έργο του (μετάφραση, σχόλια,
επίμετρο: Γ. Βάρσος), εκδόσεις Gutenberg, 2022.
.jpg)
