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
Consumed with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceivest, which makes
thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must
leave ere long.
Summary: Sonnet 73
In this poem, the speaker invokes a series of metaphors
to characterize the nature of what he perceives to be his old age.
In the first quatrain, he tells the beloved that his age is like
a “time of year,” late autumn, when the leaves have almost completely
fallen from the trees, and the weather has grown cold, and the birds
have left their branches. In the second quatrain, he then says that
his age is like late twilight, “As after sunset fadeth in the west,”
and the remaining light is slowly extinguished in the darkness,
which the speaker likens to “Death’s second self.” In the third
quatrain, the speaker compares himself to the glowing remnants of
a fire, which lies “on the ashes of his youth”—that is, on the ashes
of the logs that once enabled it to burn—and which will soon be
consumed “by that which it was nourished by”—that is, it will be
extinguished as it sinks into the ashes, which its own burning created.
In the couplet, the speaker tells the young man that he must perceive
these things, and that his love must be strengthened by the knowledge
that he will soon be parted from the speaker when the speaker, like
the fire, is extinguished by time.
Read a translation of
Sonnet 73 →
Commentary
Sonnet 73 takes
up one of the most pressing issues of the first 126 sonnets,
the speaker’s anxieties regarding what he perceives to be his advanced
age, and develops the theme through a sequence of metaphors each implying
something different. The first quatrain, which employs the metaphor
of the winter day, emphasizes the harshness and emptiness of old
age, with its boughs shaking against the cold and its “bare ruined
choirs” bereft of birdsong. In the second quatrain, the metaphor
shifts to that of twilight, and emphasizes not the chill of old
age, but rather the gradual fading of the light of youth, as “black
night” takes away the light “by and by”. But in each of these quatrains,
with each of these metaphors, the speaker fails to confront the
full scope of his problem: both the metaphor of winter and the metaphor
of twilight imply cycles, and impose cyclical motions upon the objects
of their metaphors, whereas old age is final. Winter follows spring,
but spring will follow winter just as surely; and after the twilight
fades, dawn will come again. In human life, however, the fading
of warmth and light is not cyclical; youth will not come again for
the speaker. In the third quatrain, he must resign himself to this
fact. The image of the fire consumed by the ashes of its youth is
significant both for its brilliant disposition of the past—the ashes
of which eventually snuff out the fire, “consumed by that which it
was nourished by”—and for the fact that when the fire is extinguished,
it can never be lit again.
In this sense, Sonnet 73 is
more complex than it is often considered supposed by critics and
scholars. It is often argued that 73 and
sonnets like it are simply exercises in metaphor—that they propose
a number of different metaphors for the same thing, and the metaphors
essentially mean the same thing. But to make this argument is to
miss the psychological narrative contained within the choice of
metaphors themselves. Sonnet 73 is
not simply a procession of interchangeable metaphors; it is the
story of the speaker slowly coming to grips with the real finality
of his age and his impermanence in time.
The couplet of this sonnet renews the speaker’s plea for
the young man’s love, urging him to “love well” that which he must
soon leave. It is important to note that the couplet could not have
been spoken after the first two quatrains alone. No one loves twilight
because it will soon be night; instead they look forward to morning.
But after the third quatrain, in which the speaker makes clear the
nature of his “leav[ing] ere long,” the couplet is possible, and
can be treated as a poignant and reasonable exhortation to the beloved.
