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 clearTakes in all beauty with an easy span:He has his Summer, when luxuriouslySpring's honied cud of youthful thought he lovesTo ruminate, and by such dreaming highIs nearest unto heaven: quiet covesHis soul has in its Autumn, when his wingsHe furleth close; contented so to lookOn mists in idleness—to let fair thingsPass by unheeded as a threshold brook.He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,Or else he would forego his mortal nature.