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 see'st 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 all up in rest. <br />In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, <br />That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, <br />As the deathbed 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/that-time-of-year-thou-mayst-in-me-behold-sonnet/
