Sonnet LXXIII.
“That time of year thou mayst
in me behold”
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 see’st 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 see’st the glowing of such fire, | |
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, | |
As the death-bed whereon it must expire | |
Consum’d with that which it was nourish’d by. | |
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong, | |
To love that well which thou must leave ere long. |