Autumn (or "Fall" in American English) often arouses feelings of loss and melancholy. But to John Keats, we should celebrate the end of summer for the wonderful fruitfulness of nature about to decay.

To Autumn


Do the Preparation task first. Then go to Text and read the poem or story (you can also listen to the audio while you read). Next go to Task and do the activity.

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To Autumn

by John Keats

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 mossed 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-brimmed 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-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd 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? Aye, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast music too -
While barrèd 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 the garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Task 1

Rearrange the ideas below in the same order as they appear in the poem.






Sorry, I made a mistake in my comment. I wrote "these season" instead of "this" season.

In Argentina Autumn is different according to the part of the country where you live. I live in Córdoba in the centre of Argentina. Autumn here is very nice. The weather is mild neither too hot nor cold. Trees look red, yellow and light green. It's nice to go cycling and trekking. The hills (sierras) are beautiful during these season. I imagine, through this poem, it is also very nice there in Britain.

Ksana, your poem is just amazing.  I'm from Chile and autumn was so sad there.  Always gray and cold so since I could move I choose a country like yours, always summer and it's great.  Not thinking of getting a cold during rainy season and even doing wathever I have to do down the rain.  Greetings from Panama.

 i am living in a country without changing seasons, it's summer all the time, so you can wear spaghetti throughout the years. Hot and humid, affected greatly by monsoon.
SInce thousand years ago, most chinese poets love to paint autumn into sober and melancholy colors using passive emotion...unlike westerns.Of course, I have some difficulties in this poem due to unfamiliar terms, but it gives me a feeling that, Keats really did like the season.
"Think not of them, thou hast music too"
Is very positive. We all have our own potentials.  
Although i never experienced autumn, however, from my own imaginations, i did write something about it out from nothing. In fact, this was my old leisure word puzzle, not a correct ode, i never learn how to write one...
Ode to Autumn ( Ode on Adieu )

The leaves bid farewell forever to the tree

and fall without regret 

so definite, so determined

without a curse to gravity

without a blame to nature

For what’s behind, I see love

No odium, for it’s love

To let the tree survive the winter

Nourished by decay

There’s no reason of delay

Chrysanthemums, share its yellow 

with chlorophyll-depleted leave

And pansies, “now purple with love's wound”, 

like Bard once said, love in idle, I mourn

All these give a riot of color for autumn

a season of heartbreaking, for those alone

There is big smile shown on farmers’ face

all the hard work in spring have been paid

Flock of Barnacle Geese flies across the bluish sky

When we were small we used to wonder why

We lit up the joy of Halloween night

Carving Jack O’ lantern with little knife 

On small muddy path, your bicycle traced out faint furrow 

Full of happiness, we don’t understand what of sorrow 

You step slowly and gently on dried leaves 

and the crackling sound make a melancholy staccato only I notice, 

or is it my heart, too frail which break into pieces, singing? 

The way you said good bye

just like what it was every night

The wind blows without mercy, 

the leaves wander, so my mind

I can only helplessly stand aside

and see you out of my sight

In this season of yellow, I grieve into marrow 

For we have no 

another morrow.

If the deciduous tree has a soul, will he give me a sigh?

For a love hasn’t bloomed, has died.