October 6, 2012
…my perennial favorite for falling leaves, chilly mornings, and the darkening of the year.
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 see’s 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 the rest.
In me thou see’s the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie
As the deathbead whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perciev’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou mmust leave ere long.