The autumnal equinox isn’t until Monday, and my favorite football team has already lost to its archrival. Fortunately I have a fall ritual that never disappoints: Every September I read John Keats’s ...

To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, Examine the ...

The most famous of poems about the fall is probably still Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 73”—the poem with the line “Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.” It appeared last week as The New York ...

Keats’s famous ode speaks across time and space to a 21st-century Sri Lankan, whose turbulent history catches on its mellow mood Autumn (after John Keats) The fallen yellow leaves now oftener flare ...