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The Human Seasons


Mary
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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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