Classic Poem

O GREEN old slopes of Harrow Hill
That countless hearts remember,
Those hearts are often near you still;
Bright May can touch December.
O Harrow Hill, green Harrow Hill,
What thousands April-hearted
Have paced your slopes! They love you still,
Though young dreams have departed.

O green old slopes of Harrow Hill,
Which English elms environ,
One deathless shadow haunts you still—
The mighty shade of Byron.
The soul in him to greatness grew
Upon your greensward dreaming;
Though Harrow skies then little knew
The star within them gleaming.

O green old slopes of Harrow Hill
All change and storm outliving,
In hearts of those who love you still
What memories are surviving!
O fair green slopes, so bright with hopes
By countless young hearts cherished,
Old hearts will still love Harrow Hill,
Though countless hopes have perished!