求一首英文长诗

To Autumn
　　by John Keats J.

　　1
　　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 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.

　　2
　　Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
　　Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
　　Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
　　Thy hair sort-lifted by the winnowing wind;
　　Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
　　Dows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
　　Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers.