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 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.