This poem was written by Lord Byron on his 36th birthday while he was in Greece, where he would die three months later. In the poem, Byron reflects on getting older and being past his youth. He mentions the flowers and fruits of love being gone and feelings of loneliness. Byron alludes to death, saying the land of honorable death is the battlefield and it is time to give away his last breath. The poem expresses Byron's willingness to die fighting in the war for Greek independence, seeking an honorable death as a soldier.

1. On this Day I
Complete my Thirty-
Sixth Year
LORD BYRON
(January, 22, 1788 - April, 19, 1824)

2. The Sword, the Banner, and the Field,
Glory and Greece, around me see!
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,
Was not more free.
Awake! (not Greece—she is awake!)
Awake, my spirit! Think through whom
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,
And then strike home!
Tread those reviving passions down,
Unworthy manhood!—unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of Beauty be.
If thou regret'st thy youth, why live?
The land of honourable death
Is here:—up to the Field, and give
Away thy breath!
Seek out—less often sought than found—
A soldier's grave, for thee the best;
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
And take thy Rest.
'T is time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some Volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze—
A funeral pile.
The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love, I cannot share,
But wear the chain.
But 't is not thus—and 't is not here—
Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now
Where Glory decks the hero's bier,
Or binds his brow.

3. A espada, a insígnia e o campo de batalha,
a glória e a Grécia, contemplo à minha volta!
O guerreiro espartano, levado sobre o escudo,
não era mais livre.
Desperta (que a Grécia, ela está acordada!)
Desperta meu espírito! Pensa naquele
que faz correr o teu sangue vital para o lago materno
onde fica o seu destino.
Subjuga os desejos que despertam ainda,
virilidade indigna! — para ti
deveriam ser indiferentes o sorriso ou o duro
olhar da Beleza.
Para que vives, se lamentas a tua juventude?
Aqui fica o lugar de uma morte honrosa.
Caminha para a luta, e deixa que se apague
o teu último alento!
Procura — sem o procurar, tê-lo-ias encontrado —
o túmulo de um soldado, aquilo que mereces;
olha por fim à volta e escolhe este lugar,
aceita o teu descanso.
NESTE DIA COMPLETO O MEU 36.º ANIVERSÁRIO
É tempo de este coração permanecer insensível
porque já não pode comover o dos outros:
mas, se por ninguém eu posso ser amado,
ainda quero amar!
Os meus dias estão nas folhas já caídas;
as flores e os frutos do amor abandonaram-me;
a ninguém o verme, a gangrena e o desgosto
poderão pertencer!
Como uma ilha vulcânica, sozinho
o fogo vem consumir-se no meu peito;
não há nenhum lume que aí se reacenda
— uma chama funerária!
A esperança, o temor e o ciúme,
tudo o que é excessivo no sofrimento,
e o poder do amor, não posso compartilhar,
só lhes sofro as cadeias.
Mas não é assim — e não é neste lugar —
que deviam estes pensamentos abalar-me, nem
agora quando a glória enfeita o túmulo do herói ou
lhe coroa a fronte.

4. Byron joined the War of Independence
against the Ottoman Empire.
This was the last poem Lord Byron
wrote before he died at age 36.
It dates January 22, 1824, was written in
Greece at Missolonghi, where Byron
would die three months later at age 36.

5. 'T is time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some Volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze—
A funeral pile.
The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love, I cannot share,
But wear the chain.
But 't is not thus—and 't is not here—
Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now
Where Glory decks the hero's bier,
Or binds his brow.
Macbeth (Shakespeare)
- looking back on his past
- loneliness
allusion to death

6. The Sword, the Banner, and the Field,
Glory and Greece, around me see!
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,
Was not more free.
Awake! (not Greece—she is awake!)
Awake, my spirit! Think through whom
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,
And then strike home!
Tread those reviving passions down,
Unworthy manhood!—unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of Beauty be.
If thou regret'st thy youth, why live?
The land of honourable death
Is here:—up to the Field, and give
Away thy breath!
Seek out—less often sought than found—
A soldier's grave, for thee the best;
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
And take thy Rest..
honourable and memorable death
like a warrior
honourable and memorable death
like a warrior