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 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.

“Sonnet 73: That Time of Year Thou Mayst In Me Behold” by William Shakespeare. (Public domain.)

Sonnet 73, one of Shakespeare’s most metaphoric works, has long symbolized the season of autumn for me.  With thanks to The Writer’s Almanac, William Shakespeare, Mr. Burns (my high school freshman English teacher)  and Lake Harriet – and everything else  in this world which never ceases to inspire and interest.