Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of Man: He hath his lusty Spring, when Fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has 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[52] 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. Aye, this may be carried--but what am I talking of?--it is an old maxim of mine, and of course must be well known, that every point of thought is the Centre of an intellectual world. The two uppermost thoughts in a Man's mind are the two poles of his world--he revolves on them, and everything is Southward or Northward to him through their means.--We take but three steps from feathers to iron.--Now, my dear fellow, I must once for all tell you I have not one idea of the truth of any of my speculations--I shall never be a reasoner, because I care not to be in the right, when retired from bickering and in a proper philosophical temper. So you must not stare if in any future letter, I endeavour to prove that Apollo, as he had catgut strings to his lyre, used a cat's paw as a pecten--and further from said Pecten's reiterated and continual teasing came the term _hen-pecked_. My Brother Tom desires to be remembered to you; he has just this moment had a spitting of blood, poor fellow--Remember me to Gleig and Whitehead. Your affectionate friend JOHN KEATS. XLII.--TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS. Teignmouth, Saturday [March 14, 1818].