Further to Paul Brown’s Weatherwatch (19 September) and Austen Lynch’s letter (20 September), I believe that Keats’s To Autumn can be read as a weather poem. The late summer / early autumn of 1819 had been glorious after three years – including the year “without a summer” – of very dismal weather and lost harvests.
Related: Of mists, mellow fruitfulness, mortality and conkers
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