Shakespeare's Sonnets: That time of year thou may'st in me behold

That time of year thou may'st in me beholdWhen yellow leaves, or none, or few do hangUpon those boughs which shake against the cold,Bare ruin'd quires where late the sweet birds sang.In me thou see'st the twi-light of such dayAs after sun-set 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 fireThat on the ashes of his youth doth lie,As the death bed whereon it must expire,Consum'd with that which it was nourish't by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.