That Time of Year

That time of year thou may'st in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughes which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd 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 bye and bye 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.