To Autumn Marianne Faithfull (Ft. Warren Ellis)

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 a 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 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