brier

Or swan’s down ever?

Or have smelt o’ the bud o’ the brier?

Or the nard in the fire?

Ghost-like, half like a beggar's rag, clean wrung

And useless on the brier where it has hung

Long years a-washing by sun and wind and rain.

By accident an amphitheatre.

Some ash-trees standing ankle-deep in brier

And bramble act the parts, and neither speak

And all round not to be found

For brier, bough, furrow, or green ground

Before or behind or far or at hand

Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue

And brier-roses, dwelt among;

All beside was unknown waste,

But, if he hae the name o’ gear,

Ye’ll fasten to him like a brier,

Tho’ hardly he, for sense or lear,