THE THORN.

I.

There is a thorn; it looks so old,

In truth youd ?nd 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 erect 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.

II.

Like rock or stone, it is oergrown

With lichens to the very top,

And hung with heavy tufts of moss,

A melancholy crop:

Up from the earth these mosses creep,

And this poor thorn they clasp it round

So close, youd say that they were bent

With plain and manifest intent,

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