Sonnet 73

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 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 perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

It’s the autumn of the year and you can see on me

Yellow leaves, no green, or only a few,

And the way that the boughs of this cool, shaken tree

Bear ruined nests, where birds once sang for you.

It’s twilight in me, at the end of the day,

When the sun is resting its rays in the west,

Which soon enough night will all take away,

And put to sleep, seal up—all once blessed.

It’s the glow of a fire in me that you see,

Embers of youth, smoldering away,

Dissolving orange that once broke free

Bright, dying now, faintly.

You see it now—and it makes your love strong—

Loving much better what will leave before long.