SONNETS TO MATURITY | by Shakespeare and Brigid

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 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 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. 

(Public Domain) 

Sonnet to John and Alice by Brigid Marlin 

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves do drop and mess the floor

I cling to wraps, as I do shake with cold.

I wonder if, perhaps, I'm getting old?

My voice doth croak when sweet I wish to sing

The twilight of my looks is quite a sting;

As I sit faded in the ever-rainy day,

The ashes of my fire are turning gray. 

The fire that Father wished to light up in our belly,

A fierce ambition, is now but turned to jelly.

Still, a new fire flickers from the jel, 

That wakes me from my dolorous spell.

It is the flame that burns for all my kin and friends,

I love them more, knowing ere long it ends. 

(© 2019 by Brigid Marlin)