“Sonnet 73: That Time of Year Thou Mayest in me Behold” by William Shakespeare

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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 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
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.

“Sonnet 73: That Time of Year Thou Mayst In Me Behold” by William Shakespeare.

This entry was posted in aging, autumn, death, poetry, Shakespeare and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to “Sonnet 73: That Time of Year Thou Mayest in me Behold” by William Shakespeare

  1. nouvellesdechicago says:

    Les sanglots longs
    Du violon de l’automne
    Blessent mon coeur
    D’une langueur monotone.
    Tout suffocant et blême
    Quand sonne l’heure
    Je m’en souviens
    Des jours anciens
    et je pleure.
    Et je m’en vais
    Au vent mauvais
    Qui m’emporte
    Deça delà
    Pareil comme
    la feuille morte.

  2. Jerome Bloom says:

    AUTUMN POEMS

    BOTH VERY NICE

    DESCEND

    TO

    GROUND

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