To Autumn

To Autumn by prettykeenkate featuring a mini skirt

Marc by Marc Jacobs longsleeve shirt, $200
Boutique by Jaeger mini skirt, £60
Qupid leopard flat, $26
Mary Portas Radley cross body handbag, £159
Fallon white pearl necklace, $265 

A femininely prim (but still really fun!) look for fall. One of my favorite things about autumn is the beautiful changing of the leaves, which I think the tones in this outfit represent really well. In case you haven't noticed, leopard shoes have been huge these past few weeks/months, and the ones I feature here are a nice, inexpensive option. Since the outfit is so simple, I think they helped to add interest, along with the statement pearls. A nice, buttery leather bag in cognac is the perfect finishing touch. 

Below, the poem "To Autumn" by John Keats (this post's namesake). Enjoy! 

    

 To Autumn

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd 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,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

                                            

XOXO,
Kate

P.S. I got the text of the poem here.