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: 

O, as I trace again thy winding hill, 

Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still...

HARROW-ON-THE-HILL

LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM IN THE CHURCHYARD OF HARROW

LORD BYRON (1788–1824)