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Sonnet 73William Shakespeare©Yoga People, LLC 2017 
That time of year thou mayst in me beholdWhen yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake aganst the cold, Bare ruined choirs, 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, Consumed with that which it was nourished by. This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. |
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