Vanishing Woodland

Vanishing Woodland 

"When leaves that lately were a-springing 
Now do fade within the copse, 
And painted birds do hush their singing 
Up upon the timber tops; 
And brown-leaved fruit's a-turning red, 
In cloudless sunshine, overhead, 
With fruit for me, the apple tree 
Do lean down low in Linden Lea." 

Ancient Woodland I

Linden Lea I