The Morning Reading: "To love that well which thou must leave ere long"

Norman Maclean published A River Runs Through It, his first and only work of fiction, at age 74 but for over 40 years he taught Shakespeare at the University of Chicago. I remember him saying in an interview once that as much as he read and appreciated contemporary writers, it was Shakespeare who gave him perspective on writing, kept him grounded in what was good writing. Maclean, of course, said it better than I said it here.

Here's some Shakespeare for a fall day, to give us perspective on writing well and so much more.



Sonnet LXXIII: 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 ruin'd 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.

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