Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
She has her lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
She has her Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honied cud of youthdul thought she loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is neareast unto heaven: quiet coves
Her soul has in its Autumn, when her wings
She furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness - to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
She has her Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else she would forego her mortal nature.
Adapted from the poem "The Human Seasons" by John Keats.
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