BETA

That time of year thou may’st in me
behold.
1
When or leaves, or none, or few, do
hang
2
Upon those boughs which shake against
the cold,
3
Bare, ruined choirs, where late the sweet
birds sang.
4
In me thou seest the twilight of such day,5
As after sunset fadeth in the west,6
Which by-and-by black night doth take
away,
7
Death’s second self, that seals up all in
rest.
8
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,9
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,10
As the deathbed whereon it must expire11
Consumed with that which it was nour-
ished by.
12
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy
love more strong,
13
To love that well which thou must leave
ere long.”
14