Worried about being in the autumn of life… and the decay of former beauty and youth.
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 death-bed 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.
- Sonnet 73 is my favorite poem
- I love his use of figurative language
- Author is saying that even though he is so close to death, the lover still loves him.
- This poem began to sink deep into my mind and heart because my stage of life
- I’m having trouble accepting the death.—and for the fact that when the fire is extinguished, it can never be lit again. Time is the enemy; Time is Death. The passing of time is the creator and the destroyer of life.