Sonnet 73

by William Shakespeare

(1564-1616)

Here's a poem for October - a sonnet from Shakespeare. 

It's not uncommon for poets and people in general to view the seasons as reflecting the passage of years in a person's life. I'm 75 and as much as I and my friends might like to think we are in our prime, the season that captures where we are in life is certainly not Spring or Summer. We are in our Autumn and depending on the status of our health we might have to acknowledge we are in mid or late Autumn with Winter closing in. Shakespeare says all this gently and beautifully.

Enjoy this poem no matter what season you are in and take strength from the final couplet.

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 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 seest the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum’d by that which it was nourished by.

As a bonus, we'd also recommend that old favorite from the By Heart archives, Nothing Gold Can Stay.

Happy Autumn!