The Human Seasons
John Keats, 1819

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 honey'd 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.