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Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening pale. - Robert Burns, The Cotter's Saturday Night (st. 9) 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. - William Wordsworth, The Thorn
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