In me you can see that time of year
When a few yellow leaves or none at all hang
On the branches, shaking against the cold,
Bare ruins of church choirs where lately the sweet birds sang.
In me you can see only the dim light that remains
After the sun sets in the west,
Which is soon extinguished by black night
The image of death that envelops all in rest.
In me you can see the glowing embers
That lie upon the ashes remaining from the flame of my youth,
As on a death bed where it (youth) must finally die
Consumed by that which once fed it.
This you sense, and it makes your love more determined
To love more deeply that which you must give up before long.