SONNET 73
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 ruined 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,
Consumed 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.
(Greenblatt, Cohen, Howard, and Maus, 1778)
The words of this sonnet feel the most personal to me as I went through looking for autobiographical material. With statements so distinct, the sonnet almost reads like a journal entry. While the sonnet placement of number seventy three places it earlier in his life, it reads like he is on his death bed. This could have been for many reasons, whether he was feeling extremely ill or felt frail from life experiences, or he was on his death bed and the poem was just placed earlier in the sonnets, or he may have simply wanted to explore death through poetic imagery to reconcile his own fears.
Whatever the reason may be this sonnet is personal in tone and subject matter. As it starts out like a letter to a loved one who is watching him right now fade from this realm, his life hanging by a few weak yellow autumn leaves, that we know will eventually and if not soon blow away in the cold wind. The yellow leaves also seem to play on the imagery of his work on fading yellow pages, making it feel like his work will more than likely blow away and disappear with his death, which has more than likely been a fear of his all his life, that the work he holds so dear will not endure after his life has passed on.
As he continues on to speak of his time coming up, how his fire has burnt out and his youth merely embers, again it feels almost like he is speaking of his works being done and passed, almost like he has nothing more to live for as he has done it all and life is done progressing. This almost makes the reader feel like he may be in disappear over his work, maybe in a funk and no longer able to find new life in his writing. It is possible he speaks of his writing and not just his body, seeing as his writing was his life and even his way to keep alive.
This interpretation could continue on as he wishes for whoever is reading this sonnet to read this and strengthen their love for his works. Maybe, even pleading with himself, not to give up on his writing and continue on with his passion even though he has come to a point where he feels he has lost it. There are still leaves clinging to the tree, so there is still hope for him to believe in his work and love writing again. And the final lines, almost like he is speaking to himself, love will, do not give up on him.
While it is unclear what exactly Shakespeare is speaking about, it is clear that this sonnet is personal. It reveals the many insecurities that he may have been facing as he wrote this sonnet. His fear of finality and even death, maybe even the death of his passion of writing, the dying embers of his youth, and the need for a loved one to sympathize with him and love him more even though he feels weak are a few of the insecurities displayed in this poem. Finally the possibility that this sonnet was personal and to himself, trying to get out of a writing funk and believe in himself again, showing us how fragile this incredibly talented and iconic writer could be.
WORK CITED
Greenblatt, Stephen, Walter Cohen, Jean E. Howard, and Katharine E. Maus. The Norton Shakespeare Based on the Oxford Edition. 2nd ed. Vol. 2. New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2008. Print.
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 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,
Consumed 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.
(Greenblatt, Cohen, Howard, and Maus, 1778)
The words of this sonnet feel the most personal to me as I went through looking for autobiographical material. With statements so distinct, the sonnet almost reads like a journal entry. While the sonnet placement of number seventy three places it earlier in his life, it reads like he is on his death bed. This could have been for many reasons, whether he was feeling extremely ill or felt frail from life experiences, or he was on his death bed and the poem was just placed earlier in the sonnets, or he may have simply wanted to explore death through poetic imagery to reconcile his own fears.
Whatever the reason may be this sonnet is personal in tone and subject matter. As it starts out like a letter to a loved one who is watching him right now fade from this realm, his life hanging by a few weak yellow autumn leaves, that we know will eventually and if not soon blow away in the cold wind. The yellow leaves also seem to play on the imagery of his work on fading yellow pages, making it feel like his work will more than likely blow away and disappear with his death, which has more than likely been a fear of his all his life, that the work he holds so dear will not endure after his life has passed on.
As he continues on to speak of his time coming up, how his fire has burnt out and his youth merely embers, again it feels almost like he is speaking of his works being done and passed, almost like he has nothing more to live for as he has done it all and life is done progressing. This almost makes the reader feel like he may be in disappear over his work, maybe in a funk and no longer able to find new life in his writing. It is possible he speaks of his writing and not just his body, seeing as his writing was his life and even his way to keep alive.
This interpretation could continue on as he wishes for whoever is reading this sonnet to read this and strengthen their love for his works. Maybe, even pleading with himself, not to give up on his writing and continue on with his passion even though he has come to a point where he feels he has lost it. There are still leaves clinging to the tree, so there is still hope for him to believe in his work and love writing again. And the final lines, almost like he is speaking to himself, love will, do not give up on him.
While it is unclear what exactly Shakespeare is speaking about, it is clear that this sonnet is personal. It reveals the many insecurities that he may have been facing as he wrote this sonnet. His fear of finality and even death, maybe even the death of his passion of writing, the dying embers of his youth, and the need for a loved one to sympathize with him and love him more even though he feels weak are a few of the insecurities displayed in this poem. Finally the possibility that this sonnet was personal and to himself, trying to get out of a writing funk and believe in himself again, showing us how fragile this incredibly talented and iconic writer could be.
WORK CITED
Greenblatt, Stephen, Walter Cohen, Jean E. Howard, and Katharine E. Maus. The Norton Shakespeare Based on the Oxford Edition. 2nd ed. Vol. 2. New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2008. Print.