Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from October, 2011

Sonnet 73

Sonnet 73(1609) William Shakespeare 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 ruined 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 deathbed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.


That time of year you may in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me you see the twilight of such day As after sunset fades in the west; Which by and by black night does take away, Death’s second self, that seals up all th…