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 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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Четыре разных времени в природе,
И в жизни мы испытываем их:
Весной душа парит в мечтах, в свободе,
В фантазиях прекрасных на двоих.
Пора любви хмельной наступит летом,
Наполнит сердце радостью шальной.
И обвенчается заря с рассветом,
Тепло храня осеннею порой.
Оранжевой листвой накроет души,
Дожди омоют радость и печаль.
Наполнив мудростью "глаза" и "уши",
Иллюзии развеет невзначай.
Зима укроет снежным покрывалом,
Пройти по жизни предстоит немало.