Wednesday, October 19, 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 the rest.

In me you see the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of my youth do lie,
As the deathbed where on it must expire.
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.

This you perceive, which makes your love more strong,
To love that well which you must leave before long.



Reading it the original way just hurts my head and takes too long -- though translating Shakespeare is a real particular form of arrogance.