Lines Written Beneath an Elm in The Churchyard of Harrow On The Hill

Spot of my youth! Whose hoary branches sigh
Swept by the breeze that fans thou cloudless sky
Where now alone I muse who oft have trod
With those I love. Thy soft and verdant sod
With those who, scattered far. perchance deplore
Like me, the happy scenes they knew before.
Oh! As I track again thy winding hill
My 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 whilst thou can, a lingering last farewell