That time of year thou may'st 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
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 perceivest, which makes thy love more strong
To love that well which thou must leave ere long