Four seasons fill the measure of the year
Four seasons fill the measure of the year;
Four seasons are there in the mind of man.
He hath his lusty spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He hath his summer, when luxuriously
He chews the honied cud of fair spring thoughts,
Till, in his soul dissolv'd, they come to be
Part of himself. He hath his autumn ports
And havens of repose, when his tired wings
Are folded up, and he content to look
On mists in idleness: to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He hath his winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forget his mortal nature.
Четыре времени жизни
Четыре раза год наряд меняет,
Рядится в них и каждый человек.
Весна здоровьем тело наполняет
Мечтой лелеет красоты побег.
А Летом, дней нектар смакуя,
Душа парит и рвется в небеса,
Она поет и радостно ликует,
Неведомы еще сомнений голоса.
Но вот и осень утренним туманом,
Подкравшись молча на сердце легла,
Обволокла покоем, и обманом
На встречу с зимней стужей увлекла.
Потом – Зима. Жеманна и бледна,
Любому смертному она верна.