🔵 The Human Seasons Poem by John Keats - Summary Analysis - The Human Seasons by John Keats

THE HUMAN SEASONS by John Keats 1795-1821 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 Springs honeyed cud of youthful thought. He loves to ruminate, and by such Dreaming high is nearest unto heaven. Quiet coves his soul has 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 forgo his mortal nature. OK, this poem is by John Keats. John Keats is one of the great romantic British poets, along with Shelley and Byron. He came from London. He died at a very early age, sadly. So what is this poem about? Well this poem is about the seasons of man. He's saying that there are four seasons in a year, but there are also four seasons in the life, in the mind of a man, in the mind rather than the life. So I think this even, this word mind is suggesting that we are as old as we feel we are. So four seasons fill the measure of the year, yeah? Four seasons make up a year, the full measure of a year. There are four seasons in the mind of man, so a human existence is four seasons as well. It's saying the measure of the year, the measure of the man, the amount of time that he lives. He has his lusty spring. So springtime, which is full of lust, full of sex, full of desire, full of energy, when everything is growing, when fancy clear takes in all beauty with an easy span. So everything is beautiful. He looks, man looks at everything, yeah? And he's, man is discovering what he likes, his fancy, his desire, what makes him happy is clear, and he doesn't have any prejudices. And he looks at everything beautiful, that is beautiful, and he takes it all in easily. He has his summer, when luxuriously springs honeyed cud of youthful thought, he loves to ruminate, and by such dreaming high is nearest unto heaven. So man has his summer, and this is the time where he thinks over. Let's see, cud is cows or sheep, they eat the grass and that goes into their first stomach, and then they regurgitate this and they chew it again, and that's cuds, but we use this phrase to chew the cud, to think about something. So summer is when the beautiful things that man has collected in summer, when he's discovered all these beautiful things of youthful thought, he can think about things, and by thinking about things, by such dreaming, such high dreaming, is very close to heaven, yeah? He's in a heavenly state. Quiet coves his soul has in its autumn. So I think here, a cove, a safe place, a bay, a safe bay, so quiet areas. In autumn his soul has quiet areas. When his wings he furleth close, close, yeah, so to furl, to shut, you furl an umbrella when you put it away. So in his autumn he has quiet moments where he doesn't go flying around from one thing to the other, but is more relaxed, more contented with things, contented so to look on mists in idleness. So he's contented to look at the different things, to be idle, to enjoy himself, to let fair things pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. So now in autumn man doesn't feel that he has to look at everything, to find everything, and some fair things, some interesting things, he just lets them pass by without actually looking or thinking about them, and this is like not going through a doorhole to brook, in this case, I think, not to bear, not to use, to pass on a threshold. He has his winter too, so man has winter as well, of pale misfeature, so where things now are no longer clear, and things are not what they were, or else he would forego his mortal nature, because if man didn't have his winter too, and then everything came to an end, he wouldn't be a mortal, he wouldn't be part of nature, that is natural. So enough, if you enjoyed the video, give it a rating, subscribe to my channel, and I will see you soon, bye for now. The Human Seasons by John Keats.