.
.
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 honeyed
cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming nigh
His 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.
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