Lyric-Scroll 024 : To Autumn by John Keats: When Ripe Fruit, Gentle Breezes, and Poetic Overload Met Their Muse
A Poem Where Nature Bakes Itself Golden and Sings Softly About Rotting Beautifully ABS Believes:Keats didn’t just write about Autumn—he airbrushed it with metaphor and sprinkled it with warm-toned immortality.Some seasons don’t fade. They ferment. John Keats: The Master of Melancholic Ripeness If Shakespeare had a botanical cousin who wept over sunsets and hallucinated the […]