Shakespeare's Sonnet 73

That time of year thou mayst in me beholdWhen yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hangUpon 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 dayAs 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.

In me you can see that time of year
When yellow leaves, or none, or just a few, hang
On branches that shiver in the cold,
Like bare, ruined church choirs where sweet birds recently sang.
In me you see the twilight of a day
Fading in the west after sunset,
Which black night soon takes away,
Like death itself, sealing everything in rest.
In me you see the glow of a fire
Lying on the ashes of its youth,
As on the deathbed where it must die,
Consumed by what once fed it.
You see this, and it makes your love stronger,
Loving deeply what you must leave before long.