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PART I

POEMS OF YOUTH AND AGE

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 clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:

He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honeyed 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.

John Keats (1795-1821)

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SOMETHING to live for came to the place,

Something to die for maybe,
Something to give even sorrow a grace,
And yet it was only a baby!

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