一群燕子聚集在空中，嘁嘁喳喳。
Ⅰ
Season of ists and llow fruitfulness，
Close boso-friend of the aturg sun；
spirg with hi how to load and bless
With fruit the ves that round the thatch-eves run；
To bend with apples the ossd ttage-trees，
And fill all fruit with ripeo the re；
To swell the gourd， and pp the hazel shells
With a sweet kero set buddg ore，
And still ore， ter flowers for the bees，
Until they thk war days will never cease，
For sur has oer-brid their cy cells.
II
Who hath not seen thee oft aid thy store？
Sotis whoever seeks abroad ay fd
Thee sittg careless on a granary floor，
Thy hair soft-lifted by the nog d；
Or on a half-reapd furrow sound asleep，
Drowsd with the fu of poppies， while thy hook
Spares theswath and all its ed flowers：
And sotis like a gleahou dost keep
Steady thy den head across a brook；
Or by a cyder-press， with patient look，
Thou watchest the st oozgs hours by hours.
III
Where are the songs of Sprg？Ay， where are they？
Thk not of the， thou hast thy ic too，—
While barred clouds bloo the soft-dyg day，
And touch the stubble-ps with rosy hue；
Thena wailful choir the sall gnats ourn
Aong the river sallows， horne aloft
as the light d lives or dies；
And full-grown bs loud bleat fro hilly bourn；
Hedge-crickets sg；and now with treble soft；
The red-breast whistles fro a garden-croft；
And gatherg swallows itterthe skies.