The peom 'That Time Of Year Thou Mayst in Me Behold'

That time of year thou mayst in me behold,

When yellow leave 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 see'st the twilight of such day,

As after sunset Gareth in the west,

Which by-and-by back night doh 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 doh lie,

As the death-bed, whereon it must expire. 

Consumed with that which it was nourished by

This thou perceive 'st which makes thy love more strong. 

To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.