Autumn's Load.

"The spirits of the air live on the smells

Of fruit; and joy, with pinions light, roves round

The gardens, or sits singing in the trees."

Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat;

Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak

Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load."

- William Blake, To Autumn

 

Thanks a lot for your visits and comments, my friends. Have the jolly Sunday...!

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Done