John Keats
Four seasons fill a year,
A person's heart also contains four seasons.
In his youthful spring, for a moment,
The comely reward absorbs all the beauty.
In summer, he likes young minds.
Picking honey in spring and tasting it repeatedly,
In order to appreciate the sweetness of honey,
In this meditation and soaring.
His heart fell like a wing,
Then he folded his wings contentedly,
Lazy in fog; Make everything pleasing to the eye
Running through the door like a stream, not in his heart.
He also realized that the pale winter,
Unless he goes to the essence of death.