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Johan Laurentz Jensen, "Still Life with Hawthorn Blossom"

Hawthorn (Cratægus) is a large genus of shrubs and trees in the rose family, Rosaceae, native to temperate regions of the Northern Hemisphere in Europe, Asia and North America. The name hawthorn was originally applied to the species native to northern Europe, especially the Common Hawthorn C. monogyna, and the unmodified name is often so used in Britain and Ireland. However, the name is now also applied to the entire genus, and also to the related Asian genus Rhaphiolepis.


  • Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
  • Yet, all beneath the unrivall'd rose,
    The lowly daisy sweetly blows;
    Tho' large the forest's monarch throws
    His army shade,
    Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows,
    Adown the glade.
  • The hawthorn-bush, with seats beneath the shade
    For talking age and whispering lovers made!
  • And every shepherd tells his tale
    Under the hawthorn in the dale.
  • Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade
    To shepherds looking on their silly sheep
    Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
    To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?
  • The Hawthorn whitens; and the juicy Groves
    Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees,
    Till the whole leafy Forest stands displayed,
    In full luxuriance, to the sighing gales.
  • There 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 gray.
    Not higher than a two years child
    It stands erect, this aged Thorn;
    No leaves it has, no prickly points;
    It is a mass of knotted joints,
    A wretched thing forlorn.
    It stands erect, and like a stone
    With lichens is it overgrown.
    • William Wordsworth, The Thorn; reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p. 787.

Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations[edit]

Quotes reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p. 356.
  • The hawthorn-trees blow in the dew of the morning.
  • The hawthorn I will pu' wi' its lock o' siller gray,
    Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day.
  • Yet walk with me where hawthorns hide
    The wonders of the lane.
  • Then sing by turns, by turns the Muses sing;
    Now hawthorns blossom.

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