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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 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 forgo his mortal nature.
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