Читать книгу The Golden Treasury - Unknown - Страница 31

     That time of year thou may'st 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 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 nourish'd by.

     —This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

     To love that well which thou must leave ere long.