Letter S again, but not Vermeer today

I'm one day out of schedule with my A-Z blogging challenge. I like to by in sync with the rest of us, so I will post another S today. Not about Vermeer I'm afraid, but I'm sure Mr. Shakespeare will do as well.

Visiting A-Z bloggers I came across a blog post about getting older and reaching a milestone in birthdays.  It made me think of one of my favourite sonnets by Shakespeare, number 73 for the connoisseurs among us. You should really read the sonnets of Shakespeare out loud. It really takes some time to do so fluently, but the reward is indescribable. Anyway, the sonnet is called: 

That Time Of Year Thou Mayst In Me Behold

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,
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.

 William Shakespeare

In Sonnet 73 death is approaching and the writer is thinking about how different it is from being young. It’s like the branch of a tree where birds once sang but the birds have gone and the leaves have fallen, leaving only a few dry yellow leaves. It’s like the twilight of a beautiful day, where there is only the black night ahead. It’s like the glowing ashes of a fire that once roared. The things that one gave him life have destroyed his life. From that experience he has learnt that one has to love life as strongly as one can because it will end all too soon. (No Sweat Shakespeare)