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Friday, June 20, 2014

THAT TIME OF YEAR: WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE FORWARDED BY CYNTHIA ABEGAIL

THAT TIME OF YEAR

That time of year thou may'st 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 seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by-and -bye black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up in all rest:
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie...
This thou perceiv'st, which make thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
William Shakespeare

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