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 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 deathbed
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
- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 73
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a beautiful job on this! Well written!