| 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 ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. | |
| In me thou seest 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 seest the glowing of such fire, | |
| That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, | 10 |
| As the death-bed, whereon it must expire, | |
| Consumed with that which it was nourished by. | |
| This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, | |
| To love that well, which thou must leave ere long. | |