40th and 50th Birthday Poems: "The Human Seasons"

By John KeatsFour 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 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.