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

Comments (7)

Wow. That was long....
Very good poem...Could read alot more of this, Love is bliss..
Works and writings from a genius and creative Poet GREAT
Marrying Poet Robert Browning, Elizabeth perhaps has lost her individual appeal in the world of poetry!
Shakespares and his Mates must have accosted or Wooed her when Miss Eliza was then a handmaid
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