thorn - Популярные cтихи, рассказы и фанфики

Then dark with dripping blood it gave a howland cried again: "Our damaged branches ache
Your pillage maims me
Can't you feel at all
We who were men are now this barren brake

At Market-Hill, as well appears By chronicle of ancient date,
There stood for many hundred years A spacious thorn before the gate
Hither came every village maid, And on the boughs her garland hung,
And here, beneath the spreading sh...