The Winter's Come

Sweet chestnuts brown like soling leather turn; The larch trees, like the colour of the Sun; That paled sky in the Autumn seemed to burn, What a strange scene before us now does run-- Red, brown, and yellow, russet, black, and dun; White thorn, wild cherry, and the poplar bare; The sycamore all withered in the sun. No leaves are now upon the birch tree there: All now is stript to the cold wintry air.…