John Keats则是浪漫主义诗人中造诣最深的一个，我个人非常喜欢他的To Autumn，就在原诗基础上进行了改变，写了一篇关于秋天和秋姐妹的诗。题目就保留原题以向Keats大大致敬。（Keats的原诗To Autumn会在二楼放出）
To Aki Minoriko
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom friend of the fertile earth;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eve’s run;
To fill the world with a tempting taste;
By reddening the glaring apple
And ripening the grape purple;
By drooping the abundant rice with cores like new-born babes;
To delight the heavy pomegranates,
Who fissure and laugh with tears of joy,
Which glow and burnish like the shine of ruby.
Thou art seen everywhere,
Harvesting with farmers,
together chanting a melody of blessing;
Napping by apple trees,
In a scent of sweetness immersing.
With feet nude, thou run in the endless field,
Thy blond hair gleams brighter than the resounding aubade.
Was that thee who handed those sweet potatoes,
Fresh-baked from ashes of leaves
To the girl who newly joined neighbors
With thy sweetest smile surpassing the taste of the gift?
Did she give thee the warmest hug?
To Aki Shizuha
Season of frost and ceasing light,
Solitary artist among silent leaves,
Picking a feather from the rustling blanket,
And forming it into a pen for her magic booklet
To dye the falling leaves-
Turning, spinning, hovering, and dancing
As tears falling from trees-
With colors from faded flowers;
To spray the fog that chills the valley cold;
To paint rivers and lakes bleak
-Still water lower and lower,
Wild geese hover and hover;
And to draw the final barline for songs of cicadas-
A lyrical ballad singing their moment of shining,
And burning their lengthy, tedious lives of waiting.
Thou art found nowhere.
Art thou a hermit who lives in a cabin remote,
Aside a gentle flowing brook, down the foot of a distant mount?
Would I find thee pacing in a field of asters-
Noble, solitary flowers detached from sublunary wearies-
Thy tender hair gently patted by the chilly breeze,
And maple-like dress dancing with the swinging blossoms?
Or under the cloudless sky, would thou sing a woeful elegy,
The millennial song of love, everlasting, never resulting?
Would I see thee bathing in the warm light of daybreak,
Which dresses the forest with golden silk?
Or would I find thee drowsing in the coolish wind during sunset,
Which marks the time of a day’s end?
Shalt thou be the fertile earth,
Or the silent leaves,
Either, both, or neither?
Perhaps, thou art just autumn, just there,
Living permanently for us to declare.
Yet, despite whom thou art,
Despite what thou have brought,
Within this endless world
Thy eternal beauty shall never fade.