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There is a thorn.; it looks so old, In truth you'd find it hard to say, How it could ever have been young, It looks-so old and grey. Not higher than a two years' child It stands ere&t this aged thorn ; No leaves it has, no thorny points ; It is a mass of knotted joints, A wretched thing forlorn. ' It stands erect, and like a stone . With lichens it is overgrown.
Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown
III. High on a mountain's highest ridge, Where oft the stormy winter gale Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds It sweeps from vale to vale; Not five yards from the mountain-path,
This thorn you on your left espy ; And to the left, three yards beyond, You see a little muddy pond Of water, never dry i I've measured it from side to side : 'Tis three feet long, and two feet wide.
And close beside this aged thorn, There is a fresh and lovely sight, A beauteous heap, a hill of moss, Just half a foot in height. All lovely colours there you see, All colours that were ever seen, And mossy network too is there, As if by hand of lady fair The work had woven been, And cups, the darlings of the eye, So deep is their vermillion dye.....icon
This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss,
Now would you see this aged thorn,
That's like an infant's grave in size And that same pond of which I spoke, A woman in a scarlet cloak, And to herself she cries, “ Oh misery ! oh misery! “Oh woe is me! oh misery!"
VII. At all times of the day and night This wretched woman thither goes, And she is known to every star, And every wind that blows; And there beside the thorn she sits When the blue day-light's in the skies, And when the whirlwind's on the hill, Or frosty air is keen and still, And to herself she cries, “ Oh misery! oh misery! « Oh woe is me! oh misery;"