That time of year thou mayst in me behold, <br />When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang <br />Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, <br />Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang. <br />In me thou seest the twilight of such day <br />As after sunset fadeth in the west, <br />Which by and by black night doth take away, <br />Death's second self that seals up all in rest. <br />In me thou seest the glowing of such fire <br />That on the ashes of his youth doth lie <br />As the death-bed whereon it must expire, <br />Consumed with that which it was nourished by. <br /> This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, <br /> To love that well which thou must leave ere long.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-73-that-time-of-year-thou-mayst-in-me-beh/
