He with a smile did then his words repeat; The waters of the Pools where they abide. side; But they have dwindled long by slow decay; While he was talking thus, the lonely place, The Old Man's shape, and speech, all troubled me: Wandering about alone and silently. While I these thoughts within myself pursued, He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed. And soon with this he other matter blended, But stately in the main; and when he ended, XXVIII. THE THORN. "THERE is a Thorn it looks so old, In truth, you'd find it hard to say Not higher than a two years' child It is a mass of knotted joints, It stands erect, and like a stone With lichens it is overgrown. Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown, And hung with heavy tufts of moss, Up from the earth these mosses creep, And all had joined in one endeavour High on a mountain's highest ridge, 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, Though but of compass small, and bare And, close beside this aged Thorn, All lovely colours there you see, Ah me! what lovely tints are there! This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss, 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, For oft there sits between the Heap And that same Pond of which I spoke, And to herself she cries, 'Oh misery! oh misery! Oh woe is me! oh misery!' At all times of the day and night And there, beside the Thorn, she sits Or frosty air is keen and still, And to herself she cries, Oh misery! oh misery! |