My wind is turned to bitter north, That was so soft a south before; My sky, that shone so sunny bright, With foggy gloom is clouded o'er My gay green leaves are yellow-black, Upon the dank autumnal floor; For love, departed once, comes back No more again, no more. (Arthur Hugh Clough)

My wind is turned to bitter north, That was so soft a south before; My sky, that shone so sunny bright, With foggy gloom is clouded o'er My gay green leaves are yellow-black, Upon the dank autumnal floor; For love, departed once, comes back No more again, no more.

Arthur Hugh Clough

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bitter bright comes dank departed floor green leaves north once shine sky soft wind

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Autumn, cloud blades on the horizon. The west wind blows from ten thousand miles. Dawn, in the clear morning air, Farmers busy after long rain. The desert trees shed their few green leaves. The mountain pears are tiny but ripe. A Tartar flute plays by the city gate. A single wild goose climbs into the void.

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There had been rain but it had stopped, and the light from a luminously clouded sky was pewter-bright, and puddles on the road were shivering in the wind, and the rooks above the trees in St Anne's Park were being tossed about the air like scraps of charred paper.

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Fair stands the ancient Rectory, The Rectory of Croft, The sun shines bright upon it, The breezes whisper soft. From all the house and garden Its inhabitants come forth, And muster in the road without, And pace in twos and threes about, The children of the North.

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I remember that I stood on the library steps holding my books and looking for a minute at the soft hinted green in the branches against the sky and wishing, as I always did, that I could walk home across the sky instead of through the village.

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Garth Brooks