The Human Seasons

by John Keats

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 honey'd 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.

Source:

The poetical works of John Keats.
Copyright 1871
James Miller, 647 Broadway, New York
 

Recommended Works

I know this spirit bridges unknown space... - Anne WhitneyAfter dark vapors have oppress'd our plains ... - John KeatsThou seem'st to solve the eternal unity... - Anne WhitneyDark rolling clouds in wild confusion driven... - Caroline Bowles SoutheyCheerfulness Taught By Reason - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningAlas! and yesternight I woke in terror, - Anne WhitneyTo My Brother - John KeatsOn Receiving A Gift - Thomas HoodExaggeration - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningO fair mistrust of earth's more solid shows... - Anne WhitneyAnswer To A Sonnet Ending Thus: -- - John KeatsThe Look - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningThe Soul's Expression - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningAddressed To Haydon - John KeatsTo Ailsa Rock - John KeatsThe Human Seasons - John KeatsTo The Ocean - Thomas HoodO high-born souls, such as God sends to mould... - Anne WhitneyThe Same (Might we make quest ...) - Anne WhitneyThe Two Sayings - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningAdequacy - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningTo Sleep - John KeatsHow many bards gild the lapses of time! - John KeatsI cry your mercy -- pity -- love -- ay, love ... - John KeatsComfort (Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet ...) - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningThe Passion Flower - Anne WhitneyThe day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! ... - John KeatsTo An Enthusiast - Thomas HoodPatience Taught By Nature - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningOn Seeing The Elgin Marbles - John KeatsOn The Grasshopper And Cricket - John KeatsSubstitution - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningTo A Sleeping Child - Thomas HoodThe Prisoner - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningOn A Portrait Of Wordsworth - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningC. L'E. - Anne WhitneyOn Leaving Some Friends At An Early Hour - John KeatsTo Homer - John KeatsThe Same (Twas then we said...) - Anne WhitneyO night, a terrible dismay still lurks... - Anne WhitneyBy every sweet tradition of true hearts,... - Thomas HoodIrreparableness - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningThe Meaning Of The Look - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningPain In Pleasure - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningThree Flowers - Thomas Bailey AldrichTo _. (Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs ...) - John KeatsO solitude! if I must with thee dwell, - John KeatsSo reed-like fragile, in the world's whirl nought... - Anne WhitneyDarkness surrounds me with its phantom hosts... - Anne WhitneyGrief - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningKeats's Last Sonnet - John KeatsOn Leigh Hunt's Poem, The Story Of Rimini. - John KeatsRead me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud - John KeatsOf better fortune coming, then, talk not... - Anne WhitneyBereavement - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningThe world is with me, and its many cares... - Thomas HoodTo J. H. Reynolds - John KeatsStoop low, dear Night, a little star-breeze wakes - Anne WhitneyA Thought For A Lonely Death-Bed - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningWork (What are we set on earth for? ...) - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningOn Fame (How fever'd is the man, who cannot look ...) - John KeatsAn Apprehension - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningFalse Poets And True - Thomas HoodTo George Sand: A Desire - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningContinence - Anne WhitneyTo one who has been long in city pent, ... - John KeatsLargess from seven-fold heavens, I pray, descend... - Anne WhitneyI dreamed an angel, Angel twice, through death... - Anne WhitneyWithin my life another life runs deep, - Anne WhitneyOh! how I love, on a fair summer's eve, ... - John KeatsTo ____. (My heart is sick with longing, though I feed) - Thomas HoodWork And Contemplation - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSonnet To A Sonnet - Thomas HoodLear - Thomas HoodFor The Fourteenth Of February - Thomas HoodPerplexed Music - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningIt is not death, that sometime in a sigh... - Thomas HoodTo Fancy - Thomas HoodTo _. (Time's sea hath been five years at its low ebb, ...) - John KeatsKeen Fitful Gusts Are Whispering Here And There - John KeatsTo The Nile - John KeatsTo George Sand: A Recognition - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningDiscontent - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningTO G. A. W. - John KeatsOn Fame (Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy ...). - John KeatsTears - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningAnd for that thou art Beauty, and thy name... - Anne WhitneyTo Kosciusko - John KeatsTo The Spirit - Anne WhitneyOn A Picture Of Leander - John KeatsTo My Brother George - John KeatsNo slight caprice rules thee. -- Who sounds one note... - Anne WhitneyFrom all these mounds, though day blows fresh and warm, - Anne WhitneyConsolation - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningThe Seraph And Poet - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningAddressed To The Same - John KeatsTo A Young Lady Who Sent Me A Laurel Crown. - John KeatsPast And Future - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningFuturity - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningWritten On The Day That Mr. Leigh Hunt Left Prison - John KeatsIn the still hours, a stiller strength was born - Anne WhitneyOn A Dream - John KeatsOn First Looking Into Chapman's Homer - John KeatsHow bravely Autumn paints upon the sky - Thomas HoodHappy is England! I could be content ... - John KeatsWhen I have fears that I may cease to be ... - John KeatsIf by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd ... - John KeatsTo Haydon - John KeatsOn Sitting Down To Read King Lear Once Again. - John KeatsOn The Sea - John KeatsInsufficiency - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningNight - Anne WhitneyO Mankind's God! most silent and most lowly - Anne WhitneyTo The Same - Anne WhitneyWhy did I laugh to-night? - John KeatsWritten In The Cottage Where Burns Was Born - John KeatsYet are there sunbeams, though the kingly sun... - Anne WhitneyThis pleasant tale is like a little copse: ... - John KeatsTo A Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses - John Keats