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,
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.
Finished The Thirteen-gun Salute late last night and surprise me by wanting The Nutmeg of Consolation right away now this very minute ('Why are there no nutmegs for my grandson!'). Suprised because two O'Brians in a row is about my limit and I usually trip on the third; here I tripped on the second and devoured the third and fourth. (But that was because I wanted the current Badnasties to Get It, and that plot point just got tied up more or less satisfactorily.) We shall see what happens; I discover, also to my surprise that I prefer Jack aboard to Jack on land, and Nutmeg must surely happen on land?
On balance, how happy I am that I'm reading this series after it came out and not while.