Sonnet
73(1609)
William
Shakespeare
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 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 seest 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.
That time of year you may 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 you see the twilight of such
day
As after sunset fades in the west;
Which by and by black night does
take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up
all the rest.
In me you see the glowing of such
fire,
That on the ashes of my youth do
lie,
As the deathbed where on it must
expire.
Consumed with that which it was
nourished by.
This you perceive, which makes your
love more strong,
To love that well which you must leave
before long.
Reading it the original way just hurts my head and takes too long -- though translating Shakespeare is a real particular form of arrogance.
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