The Human Seasons

John Keats

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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 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.

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  • Dakotah Nawlins

    I just stumbled upon The Human Seasons and, wow, what a powerful poem! I really love how it describes the stages of a person's life through the four seasons. It really got me thinking about where I am in my own "seasons," ya know? What do you guys think the "pale misfeature" means in the Winter of our lives? It's a bit unclear to me.