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There is a Thorn-it looks so old,
Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown
High on a mountain's highest ridge,
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've measured it from side to side : 'Tis three feet long, and two feet wide.
beauteous heap, a Hill of moss,
V. Ah me! what lovely tints are there ! Of olive green and scarlet bright, In spikes, in branches, and in stars, Green, red, and pearly white. This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss, Which close beside the Thorn you see, So fresh in all its beauteous dyes, Is like an infant's grave in size, As like as like can be : But never, never any where, An infant's grave was half so fair.
Now would you see this aged Thorn,