Season's fruit

With apples and grapes in hand from yesterday's trip to the grocery, I took advantage of the sunlight on my back porch railing to take pictures of them to go with Keats's poem "To Autumn," which I had quoted in my blog post of Wednesday, October 27, 2010.


"to bend with apples"


"to load and bless with fruit the vines"


to "burst Joy's grape"

That last caption isn't from John Keats's ode "To Autumn." It's from his ode "On Melancholy." But his imagery there is so great that I wanted to include it in this autumn remembrance of his October 31st birthday.

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.