Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold
By William Shakespeare
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 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 death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45099/sonnet-73-that-time-of-year-thou-mayst-in-me-behold
I can't say it better than Shakespeare. Obviously. To love that well which I must leave before long. Autumn is so lovely. The death of leaves is beautiful, and its meant, part of a complex process that renews both leaf and tree. We have been doing quite a lot of driving recently through the Fall, and the loveliness of it all just lifts the heart.
By William Shakespeare
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 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 death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45099/sonnet-73-that-time-of-year-thou-mayst-in-me-behold
I can't say it better than Shakespeare. Obviously. To love that well which I must leave before long. Autumn is so lovely. The death of leaves is beautiful, and its meant, part of a complex process that renews both leaf and tree. We have been doing quite a lot of driving recently through the Fall, and the loveliness of it all just lifts the heart.
I feel it ought to inspire me to a poem, but I can't even begin to do it justice.
In sharp contrast, our deaths are not beautiful, as we were not designed to die. Our first parents were made to live forever. My body will soon wear out, hopefully before my brain does, and I will have to leave Captain Butterfly and this lovely earth, and enter the dreamless sleep of death. But I don't want to.
Both Col and I are down with horrible colds - him first, and then me. Unavoidable I guess, as everyone seems to have one. At least it is not Covid, or flu. And the weather is suddenly colder - a lot colder. It will be a cruel thing if we are in for a bad winter just as the government has taken the winter fuel allowance away.
Politics seems more devious and topsy turvy than ever, in that it was a Conservative government who gave us the fuel allowance and a Labour government who has taken it away.
Well, once again I see how much we need the heavenly government, the Kingdom of God. It is no good expecting too much of any human government, they can only do what they can do, which is so limited.
And in case this blog has been a bit too melancholy, I am still loving being alive - every day is a bonus now. And I am loving being back in touch with Krysia. We were at the same convent school many many years ago - when Sheffield was covered with primeval forest (and convent schools).
Poor Col has just gone coughing and sneezing by, having fixed my computer for me, in some amazing way. I must go and see if I can make us both a Lemsip...
No comments:
Post a Comment