Hawthorn

"Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale."

"Yet, all beneath the unrivall'd rose, The lowly daisy sweetly blows; Tho' large the forest's monarch throws His army shade, Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, Adown the glade."

"The hawthorn-bush, with seats beneath the shade For talking age and whispering lovers made!"

"And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale."

"Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade To shepherds looking on their silly sheep Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?"

"In hawthorn-time the heart grows light."

"The Hawthorn whitens; and the juicy Groves Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees, Till the whole leafy Forest stands displayed, In full luxuriance, to the sighing gales."

"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 gray. Not higher than a two years child It stands erect, this aged Thorn; No leaves it has, no prickly points; It is a mass of knotted joints, A wretched thing forlorn. It stands erect, and like a stone With lichens is it overgrown."

"The hawthorn-trees blow in the dew of the morning."

"The hawthorn I will pu' wi' its lock o' siller gray, Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day."

"Yet walk with me where hawthorns hide The wonders of the lane."

"Then sing by turns, by turns the Muses sing; Now hawthorns blossom."