no, or rare, the branches hanging
shivering against the cold, bare
already famous choirs, if the songs were sweet.
See me in like a day pales
after sunset, and so the black night
carries it, alter ego of death,
that all seals in the rest.
See me in the ashes of his
force the glare of a fire, as
on the bed where funeral will sigh,
on the bed where funeral will sigh,
consumed by what they fed him. This
feel, and stronger than your love love what you have to leave soon.
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 day Such
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" William Shakespeare