Bare Ruined Choirs

Sad to see the birds, flitting about the downed trees across the street. They hop from this dying branch to that, looking for their pasts. What was it Shakespeare wrote?

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 choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

Of course, he was writing about old age, not new parking lots and office buildings.