Long fields and of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the fields the road runs by
√√To many-towered Camelot.
Autumn has surely arrived. The barley is ripening; the trees' leaves are turning. The sky is clear and cloudless. The sun is bright and warm, but not too hot. A gentle breeze freshens the air. A glorious time of the year.
The river, in the background, curves north from here,
and cuts through the middle of our many-towered city.)