Quote of the Day (John Keats, on Autumn)

“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” (1820)

(Thanks to my friend and fellow blogger Linnea for bringing this lovely and apropos poem to my attention.)

I took the accompanying photograph last fall while on a trip to Massachusetts. The photo shows the Charles River from the Cambridge side, just down from the wonderful Longfellow House.