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几场雨落下，一转眼秋天就到了深处。
满城金黄飘摇的时候，九班年轻的英语老师突然放下手里的试卷，说后半节课暂时不讲题了。
她用好听的英式发音给面前这些一脸疲惫无光的学生们朗读了一首古老的诗歌。
“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-eves 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.
济慈《秋颂》