Sonnet 73

That time of year thou may'st 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 see'st 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

Consum'd 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