BY the road, near her father’s dwelling, <br /> There groweth a hawthorn tree: <br />Its blossoms are fair and fragrant <br /> As the love that I cast from me. <br />It is all a-bloom this morning <br /> In the sunny silentness, <br />And grows by the roadside, radiant <br /> As a bride in her bridal dress. <br /> <br />But ah me! at sight of its blossoms <br /> No pleasant memories start: <br />I see but the thorns beneath them— <br /> And the thorns they pierce my heart.<br /><br />Victor James Daley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hawthorn/
