Far be it from me to attempt to translate Shakespeare. Let this be an appreciation, filtered through my sensibilities.
Sonnet 73 Revisited
My eyes are glinting for you
reflecting fall trees’ losses
amid final colors where
not long ago birds sang
and you thrilled to me
not knowing it was me.
Winter solstice is next,
darkness tipping the scale
yet light abides, I see you still;
darkness almost conquers
but I see you still.
Sonnet 73, 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 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.