Loading
Sonnet 73
That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou seest the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
You can see in me that time of year When yellow leaves, or none, or a few, hang On branches that shake in the cold, Empty ruined places where sweet birds once sang. You see in me the twilight of a day That fades in the west after sunset; Which is soon taken away by dark night, Death's twin, that puts everything to rest. You see in me the glow of a fire That lies on the ashes of its youth, Like a deathbed where it must die, Used up by what once fed it. You understand this, which makes your love stronger, To love well what you must soon leave.