Poem for Tuesday

To Autumn
By William Blake

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain'd
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.

The spirits of the air live in the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees."
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,
Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.

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That meme in which I tell you five things about me, one of which is not true...see if you can guess which...

1) In eighth grade home ec class, I burned instant pudding.
2) I have never finished reading Atlas Shrugged.
3) My first 9-5 job, during the summer in high school, was as a file clerk in a law firm.
4) In a stage production of How To Eat Like A Child, I played the bratty younger sister.
5) I once won $1000 in a college essay writing contest.