William Shakespeare , Sonnet 97

From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!

How like a winter hath my absence been

You are what makes the year feel pleasurable and short.

And yet this time removed was summer's time,

The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,

My separation from you has felt just like winter

And yet the time we've been apart was actually summer, then fall, rich with crops

What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen,

What old December's bareness everywhere!

Works Cited

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Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,

Like widowed wombs after their lords' decease.

I've experienced cold and dark days and everything has been as barren as in December

Bearing the lustful birth of Spring,

Like a widow giving birth after her husbands death

Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer

That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

Yet this abundant issue seemed to me

But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit;

Or if they do sing, they do it so dismally

that the leaves are colorless with fear, as dreading the coming winter.

For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,

And thou away, the very birds are mute ;

And these abundant fruits of nature seemed like hopeless orphans to me

summer and summer's pleasure all depend on you,

and with you away, even the birds are silent.

William Shakespeare , Sonnet 97