| THAT time of year thou mayst 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 | 5 |
| 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, | 10 |
| As the death-bed whereon it must expire | |
| Consum’d 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. |