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The Human Seasons


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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

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