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 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 see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
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sergey May 20, 2013 at 7:45am
This is awful and robratterman sucks!
Reply
robert-bobert May 21, 2013 at 3:10am
Yeah, this guy is just nuts!
robratterman May 21, 2013 at 3:12am
YOU BOTH ARE FIRED!!!