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| Spring 2011 |
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| Autumn 2011 |
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.
The Human Seasons a poem by John Keats.
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