The
Human Seasons
Four
Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in
the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an
easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honied cud of
youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven:
quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented
so to look
On mists in idleness--to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a
threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
by
John
Keats
