Sonnet: The Human Seasons

by


    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.

0

facebook share button twitter share button google plus share button tumblr share button reddit share button email share button share on pinterest pinterest


Create a library and add your favorite stories. Get started by clicking the "Add" button.
Add Sonnet: The Human Seasons to your own personal library.

Return to the John Keats Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; Sonnet: To A Lady Seen For A Few Moments At Vauxhall

Anton Chekhov
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Susan Glaspell
Mark Twain
Edgar Allan Poe
Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
Herman Melville
Stephen Leacock
Kate Chopin
Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson