I.
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here 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 grey.Not higher than a two-years’ child,It stands erect this aged thorn;No leaves it has, no thorny points;It is a mass of knotted joints,A wretched thing forlorn.It stands erect, and like a stoneWith lichens it is overgrown.
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