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The Human Seasons
John Keats 1795 (Moorgate) – 1821 (Rome)
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.
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Citation
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"The Human Seasons" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 18 Jan. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/23502/the-human-seasons>.
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