Yellow leaves and Boughs

Sonnet, [73]. “That time of year thou mayst in me behold/ When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang/ Upon those boughs which sshake against the cold,/ Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang./ 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,/ 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 lever ere long.”

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