I cannot tell how this may be, / But plain it is the Thorn is bound / With heavy tufts of moss that strive / To drag it to the ground . . .

And this I know, full many a time,
When she was on the mountain high,
By day, and in the silent night,
When all the stars shone clear and bright,
That I have heard her cry,
"Oh misery! oh misery!
Oh woe is me! oh misery!"

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