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| That time of year thou mayst in me behold | 1 |
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| When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang |
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| Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, |
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| Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. |
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| In me thou see'st the twilight of such day | 5 |
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| As after sunset fadeth in the west; |
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| Which by and by black night doth take away, |
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| Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. |
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| In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, |
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| That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, | 10 |
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| As the death-bed, whereon it must expire, |
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| Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. |
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 This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, |
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| To love that well, which thou must leave ere long. |
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