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...

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 ruined where late the sweet birds sang. by Greg Rutkowski J. G. Quintel Ferdinand Knab mannerism romanticism romanesque tesselation wet brush telephoto lens complex ...