| 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 |
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| 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 |
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| 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
John Keats
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