Love Poems

Sonnet #73, by 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 steal away,
    Death's second self, which 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.

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