<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116800" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Lines Written beneath an Elm in the Churchyard of Harrow</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh,<br>Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky;<br>Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod,<br>With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod;<br>With those who, scatter'd far, perchance deplore,<br>Like me, the happy scenes they knew before:<br>Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill,<br>Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still,<br>Thou drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs I lay,<br>And frequent mused the twilight hours away;<br>Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline,<br>But, ah! without the thoughts which then were mine:<br>How do thy branches, moaning to the blast,<br>Invite the bosom to recall the past,<br>And seem to whisper, as they gently swell,<br>"Take, while thou canst, a lingering, last farewell!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When Fate shall chill, at length, this fever'd breast,<br>And calm its cares and passions into rest,<br>Oft have I thought, 'twould soothe my dying hour,--<br>If aught may soothe when life resigns her power,--<br>To know some humble grave, some narrow cell,<br>Would hide my bosom where it loved to dwell;<br>With this fond dream, methinks 'twere sweet to die--<br>And here it linger'd, here my heart might lie;<br>Here might I sleep where all my hopes arose,<br>Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose;<br>For ever stretch'd beneath this mantling shade,<br>Press'd by the turf where once my childhood play'd;<br>Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I loved,<br>Mix'd with the earth o'er which my footsteps moved;<br>Blest by the tongues that charm'd my youthful ear,<br>Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged here;<br>Deplored by those in early days allied,<br>And unremember'd by the world beside.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Byron">Byron</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116800" data-title="Lines Written beneath an Elm in the Churchyard of Harrow de Byron" data-description="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, scatter'd far, perchance deplore,/Like me, the h..."></div> </div> </div>

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