The Human Seasons
by John Keats
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 winte...The Human Seasons
by John Keats
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.(展開)