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To Autumn by William Blake

To Autumn by William Blake
Saturday 13, 2012

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,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and

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