(copyright)

A sketch from nature

The air blows pure, for twenty miles,

Over this vast countrié:

Over hill and wood and vale, it goeth,

Over steeple, and stack, and tree:

And there's not a bird on the wind but knoweth

How sweet these meadows be.

The swallows are flying beside the wood,

And the corbies are hoarsely crying;

And the sun at the end of the earth hath stood,
And, thorough the hedge and over the road,

On the grassy slope is lying:

And the sheep are taking their supper-food

While yet the rays are dying.

Sleepy shadows are filling the furrows,

And giant-long shadows the trees are making;

And velvet soft are the woodland tufts,
And misty-gray the low-down crofts;
But the aspens there have gold-green tops,

And the gold-green tops are shaking:

The spires are white in the sun's last light;—
And yet a moment ere he drops
Gazes the sun on the golden slopes.

Two sheep, afar from fold,

Are on the hill-side straying,

With backs all silver, breasts all gold:

The merle is something saying

Something very very sweet:—

'The day—the day—the day is done:'

There answereth a single bleat—
The air is cold, the sky is dimming,
And clouds are long like fishes swimming.

Sydenham Wood, 1849.

Poem by:- John Lucas Tupper

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I have not left DA, but I am not sure if I shall return neither.
I never really liked the watermarks & I can't make up my mind if I wish to continue showing my images in this way.
My gallery is now in storage and ever so now and then I might show a different photo: then swop it over for another one.