Explore "Lines Written Beneath an Elm in the Churchyard of Harrow" by Lord Byron on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh, / Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky; / Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod, / With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod; / With those who, scattered far, perchance deplore, / Like me, the happy scenes they knew before: / Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill, / Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still, / Thou drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs I lay, / And frequent mused the twilight hours away; / Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline, / But ah! without the thoughts which then were mine.
How do thy branches, moaning to the blast, / Invite the bosom to recall the past, / And seem to whisper, as they gently swell, / "Take, while thou canst, a lingering, last farewell!"