O leave this barren spot to me! <br />Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! <br />Though bush or floweret never grow <br />My dark unwarming shade below; <br />Nor summer bud perfume the dew <br />Of rosy blush, or yellow hue; <br />Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born, <br />My green and glossy leaves adorn; <br />Nor murmuring tribes from me derive <br />Th' ambrosial amber of the hive; <br />Yet leave this barren spot to me: <br />Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! <br /> <br />Thrice twenty summers I have seen <br />The sky grow bright, the forest green; <br />And many a wintry wind have stood <br />In bloomless, fruitless solitude, <br />Since childhood in my pleasant bower <br />First spent its sweet and sportive hour; <br />Since youthful lovers in my shade <br />Their vows of truth and rapture made, <br />And on my trunk's surviving frame <br />Carved many a long-forgotten name. <br />Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound, <br />First breathed upon this sacred ground; <br />By all that Love has whispered here, <br />Or Beauty heard with ravished ear; <br />As Love's own altar honor me: <br />Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!<br /><br />Thomas Campbell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-beech-tree-s-petition/
