Sonnet 73: That Time of Year Thou Mayst in Me Behold

By William Shakespeare

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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 seest 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.

Originally published in the 1609 Quarto of Shakespeare’s Sonnets (public domain).

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Analysis

This sonnet turns aging into art — transforming the inevitability of decline into a meditation on love, time, and beauty that endures even as the body fades.

Background and Context

Sonnet 73 belongs to the sequence commonly known as the “Fair Youth” sonnets, in which Shakespeare addresses a younger man with affection, admiration, and sometimes melancholy. While many of these poems explore beauty and immortality, Sonnet 73 stands apart for its quiet acceptance of mortality.

By the time this poem was written, Shakespeare was likely in his forties — old by the standards of Elizabethan life. His career was thriving, yet his imagination had turned inward. The poem reflects a mature voice that sees aging not as tragedy but as transformation. The tone is tender and deeply personal, suggesting not despair, but gratitude that love persists even when youth does not.

The Autumn of Life

The first quatrain sets the tone with one of the most haunting openings in all of poetry:
“That time of year thou mayst in me behold / When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang.”

Here, Shakespeare compares himself to a late autumn tree — mostly bare, its few remaining leaves trembling in the cold. The image conveys fragility and beauty at once. The phrase “bare ruin’d choirs” suggests both empty branches and the ruined cathedrals of post-Reformation England, once filled with song but now silent. The metaphor unites physical decay and spiritual desolation, giving aging a sacred solemnity.

Even in this desolate scene, there is dignity. The poet invites his beloved to behold this season in him — not to turn away, but to see beauty in impermanence.

Twilight and the Approach of Night

In the second quatrain, the metaphor shifts from the cycle of the seasons to the rhythm of the day:
“In me thou seest the twilight of such day / As after sunset fadeth in the west.”

Twilight here symbolizes the final stage before night, an image for death, which Shakespeare calls “Death’s second self.” The choice of words softens mortality; night becomes rest, not punishment. The repeated use of gentle verbs — fadeth, take away, seals up — mirrors the gradual fading of light, suggesting acceptance rather than struggle.

The progression from autumn to evening reflects the poet’s growing intimacy with the idea of death. He acknowledges its nearness but also its calm inevitability. The tone is neither bitter nor afraid; it is contemplative, as if speaking from the threshold between light and shadow.

The Fire That Burns Itself Out

The third quatrain turns inward again, this time to the image of fire:
“In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire, / That on the ashes of his youth doth lie.”

This is the poem’s most intimate moment. The fire, reduced to embers, lies upon its own ashes — a striking metaphor for a body consumed by the heat of its own passions. Youth has burned brightly and is now the fuel of old age’s last warmth. Shakespeare likens this to a “death-bed,” both an image of physical decline and of completion.

The paradox — “consum’d with that which it was nourish’d by” — captures the cycle of life perfectly. The very forces that once sustained vitality now lead to its end. Yet there’s no self-pity here. The poet recognizes that this process gives meaning to existence. Life feeds on itself, and beauty lies in that recognition.

The Turn: Love Made Stronger

The volta, or turn, comes in the final couplet — one of the most emotionally resonant in all of Shakespeare:

“This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.”

Here the poet directly addresses his beloved, acknowledging that love deepens precisely because it is finite. The awareness of death intensifies affection, turning it into something selfless. The beloved’s love grows stronger because it embraces loss rather than denying it.

The sonnet ends not in despair, but in a quiet triumph: mortality gives love its meaning. If everything lasted forever, nothing would be precious. Shakespeare’s insight here foreshadows the emotional depth of his later plays — acceptance, forgiveness, and renewal through understanding.

Structure and Sound

Like all Shakespearean sonnets, Sonnet 73 follows the form of three quatrains and a final couplet, written in iambic pentameter. The steady ten-syllable rhythm mirrors the slow, measured passage of time. Each quatrain presents a distinct metaphor — autumn, twilight, and fire — and the transitions between them feel organic, like natural stages of life.

The rhyme scheme (ABAB CDCD EFEF GG) lends a sense of closure to each stanza, while the repetition of “In me thou seest” in the second and third quatrains emphasizes reflection. The sound is soft and meditative, with long vowels and gentle consonants creating a sense of fading light. Even the meter seems to slow as the poem approaches its end — a subtle musical imitation of decline.

Language and Imagery

Shakespeare’s imagery in Sonnet 73 blends the physical with the spiritual. The bare ruin’d choirs evoke both the human body and sacred architecture, suggesting that aging is both biological and divine. Death’s second self personifies night as a calm companion rather than a threat.

The fire imagery is especially rich. Fire symbolizes passion, life, and creative energy. By showing it reduced to embers, Shakespeare reminds us that aging does not extinguish the flame; it transforms it. The poem’s language allows readers to feel the warmth even in its final glow.

The use of opposites — warmth and cold, light and dark, life and death — reinforces the theme of transformation. Shakespeare does not separate these states but shows them as interdependent. The fading of one gives rise to the beauty of the other.

Why It Still Matters

Four centuries later, Sonnet 73 remains one of Shakespeare’s most human and consoling poems. It speaks to anyone who has watched time alter someone they love — or themselves. Its message transcends the Renaissance worldview: that love can face mortality and emerge stronger.

Modern readers often find comfort in its honesty. Unlike poems that idealize eternal youth, Sonnet 73 finds dignity in impermanence. It teaches that tenderness, not denial, is the proper response to aging. In a culture obsessed with youth, Shakespeare’s acceptance feels revolutionary.

In the Context of the Sonnets

Within the larger sequence, Sonnet 73 marks a turning point. Earlier poems like Sonnet 18 celebrated eternal beauty through art; this one accepts mortality as part of that beauty. The poet no longer promises immortality through verse but finds immortality in love’s endurance despite loss.

Together with Sonnets 71–74, it forms a quartet meditating on death and remembrance. These poems reveal a mature Shakespeare — one who has learned that art does not erase death but gives it meaning.