O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of 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.
William Blake. To Autumn.
Size & Shape
Portable Batteries Chargers
Weekender Tote Bags
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