Poetry Sunday: Sonnet 73 by William Shakespeare
How about a little Shakespeare to brighten your Sunday? This is actually one of my favorites of his sonnets. I have featured it here before but it was way back in 2018, practically a lifetime ago! He's writing here about just this time of year but also about this time of life - the autumn of our years. He speaks of the "boughs which shake against the cold...where late the sweet birds sang." There are no boughs shaking against the cold here where daytime temperatures still reach around 90 degrees F. But I am in my autumn and winter is coming. 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 al...