SONNET
L
X
X
I
I
I
That time of year
thou mayst in me behold
When yellow
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or none, or few,
Upon those boughs
which
SHAKE
against the cold,
Bare
ruin'd choirs,
where late
the sweet
birds sang.
In me thou seest
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.
SECOND SELF
In me thou see'st
the glowing of
the glowing of
SUCH FIRE
SUCH FIRE
SUCH FIRE
That on
the ashes
of his youth
doth lie,
sweet birds
sang
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest,
which makes
thy love
more strong,
that
well
which
thou
must
leave
ere
long