Nonostante me -

instagram picchidimancanza 🌹

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.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?   Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,   And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

To Autumn read by Ben Whishaw

scrivoperanestetizzaretutto (via scrivoperanestetizzaretutto)

-Volevoimparareavolare (scritto da me)

“The Vampire”