Sweet, lovely Elm, who here dost grow
Companion of unsocial care,
Lo! thy dejected branches die
Amidst this torrid air —
Smit by the sun or blasting moon,
Like fainting flowers, their verdure gone.
Thy withering leaves, that drooping hang,
Presage thine end approaching nigh;
And lo! thy amber tears distill,
Attended with that parting sigh —
O charming tree! no more decline,
But be thy shades and love-sick whispers mine.
Forbear to die — this weeping eye
Shall shed her little drops on you,
Shall o'er thy sad disaster grieve,
And wash thy wounds with pearly dew,
Shall pity you, and pity me,
And heal the languor of my tree!
Short is thy life, if thou so soon must fade,
Like angry Jonah's gourd at Nineveh,
That, in a night, its bloomy branches spread,
And perish'd with the day.—
Come, then, revive, sweet lovely Elm, lest I,
Thro’ vehemence of heat, like Jonah, wish to die.