| That time of year thou mayst in me behold |
1 |
| When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang |
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| Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, |
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| Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. |
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| In me thou seest the twilight of such day |
5 |
| As after sunset fadeth in the west; |
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| Which by and by black night doth take away, |
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| Death's second self that seals up all in rest. |
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| In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, |
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| That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, |
10 |
| As the death-bed whereon it must expire, |
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| Consumed with that which it was nourished by. |
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| This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, |
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| To love that well which thou must leave ere long. |
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