There stood the lonely thorn, yet full of joy!
Gnarled upon the moorside steep.
A travellers sign as man and boy
Through rain and snow, bleak or deep.
The wayfarer his distant cott doth eye,
The watered sun on bracken bronze
Shines through the wintry blue grey sky
Gleams on lichen and on fronds.
The thorn tree gives forth his sign of joy
And gives his weary legs a boost
To cross just one more wooded glen,
To caress within his lovers roost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem