Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold
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’st 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 see’st 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 nourished by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
Notes
Larkin’s mower encounters death by accident; Shakespeare watches it approaching slowly, first in the thinning branches of autumn, then in the last light of evening, and finally in a fire consuming the very fuel that once kept it alive. There is a difficult intimacy in knowing that something will end. Finitude gives the present its urgency, because love becomes most conscious of its object when permanence can no longer be imagined. October reaches its heart here. In the bare branches, the dying light, the warmth of the final embers, and the peculiar beauty of loving something more because it cannot stay. #October #WilliamShakespeare #Decay #Mortality #Poetry