William Shakespeare
Warwickshire
Explore Poems GO!

Sonnet Lxxiii

Rating: 5.0
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 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.
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
Read More
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS
John S 07 November 2020
Iambic pentameter. I like the metaphor of winter and the setting sun being reminders of death. He loves more deeply that which he must leave behind because of that reminder.
0 0 Reply
Brian Jani 26 April 2014
Awesome I like this poem, check mine out 
1 2 Reply

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

5/14/2021 6:35:18 AM # 1.0.0.578