Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Bare Ruined Choirs . . .


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 there must leave ere long.

Sonnet 73 by William Shakespeare
 
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7 comments:

Juliet Batten said...

Amazing Vicki to read the words of a well-loved sonnet, together with your images, and then slowly to realise who the poet is. This was very beautiful, thank you.

katy gilmore said...

Gorgeous!

Brian Miller said...

bare ruined choirs....now that is a cool descriptor eh? def carries the essence...

B. Rogers, Living in Black Mountain said...

Such a glorious poem, and great visual effects to enhance it. Thanks. Barb

Inger said...

One wouldn't think your lovely pictures would look so good, surrounded by red, but they did. Spectacular, and how nice to be treated to a Shakespeare sonnet. Thank you,Vicki.

Jim Egerton said...

I guess it is all about mortality.
Yet winter will be over and flowers will bloom

Terri Buster said...

Sigh..Shakespeare.