The Thorn
Read "The Thorn" by William Wordsworth, with a complete literary analysis exploring grief, isolation, infanticide, rumor, nature, and the mysterious relationship between Martha Ray, the thorn, and the tragic story surrounding the death of her child.
I.
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 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 stone With lichens it is overgrown.
II.
Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown With lichens to the very top, And hung with heavy tufts of moss, A melancholy crop: Up from the earth these mosses creep, And this poor thorn! they clasp it round So close, you'd say that they were bent With plain and manifest intent, To drag it to the ground; And all had join'd in one endeavour To bury this poor thorn for ever.
III.
High on a mountain's highest ridge, Where oft the stormy winter gale Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds It sweeps from vale to vale; Not five yards from the mountain-path, This thorn you on your left espy; And to the left, three yards beyond, You see a little muddy pond Of water, never dry; I've measured it from side to side: 'Tis three feet long, and two feet wide.
IV.
And close beside this aged thorn, There is a fresh and lovely sight, A beauteous heap, a hill of moss, Just half a foot in height. All lovely colours there you see, All colours that were ever seen, And mossy network too is there, As if by hand of lady fair The work had woven been, And cups, the darlings of the eye, So deep is their vermillion dye.
V.
Ah me! what lovely tints are there! Of olive green and scarlet bright, In spikes, in branches, and in stars, Green, red, and pearly white. This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss, Which close beside the thorn you see, So fresh in all its beauteous dyes, Is like an infant's grave in size As like as like can be: But never, never any where, An infant's grave was half so fair.
VI.
Now would you see this aged thorn, This pond and beauteous hill of moss, You must take care and chuse your time The mountain when to cross. For oft there sits, between the heap That's like an infant's grave in size And that same pond of which I spoke, A woman in a scarlet cloak, And to herself she cries, "Oh misery! oh misery! Oh woe is me! oh misery!"
VII.
At all times of the day and night This wretched woman thither goes, And she is known to every star, And every wind that blows; And there beside the thorn she sits When the blue day-light's in the skies, And when the whirlwind's on the hill, Or frosty air is keen and still, And to herself she cries, "Oh misery! oh misery! Oh woe is me! oh misery;"
VIII.
"Now wherefore thus, by day and night, In rain, in tempest, and in snow Thus to the dreary mountain-top Does this poor woman go? And why sits she beside the thorn When the blue day-light's in the sky, Or when the whirlwind's on the hill, Or frosty air is keen and still, And wherefore does she cry?— Oh wherefore? wherefore? tell me why Does she repeat that doleful cry?"
IX.
I cannot tell; I wish I could; For the true reason no one knows, But if you'd gladly view the spot, The spot to which she goes; The heap that's like an infant's grave, The pond—and thorn, so old and grey. Pass by her door—tis seldom shut— And if you see her in her hut, Then to the spot away!— I never heard of such as dare Approach the spot when she is there.
X.
"But wherefore to the mountain-top, Can this unhappy woman go, Whatever star is in the skies, Whatever wind may blow?" Nay rack your brain—'tis all in vain, I'll tell you every thing I know; But to the thorn and to the pond Which is a little step beyond, I wish that you would go: Perhaps when you are at the place You something of her tale may trace.
XI.
I'll give you the best help I can: Before you up the mountain go, Up to the dreary mountain-top, I'll tell you all I know. 'Tis now some two and twenty years, Since she (her name is Martha Ray) Gave with a maiden's true good will Her company to Stephen Hill; And she was blithe and gay, And she was happy, happy still Whene'er she thought of Stephen Hill.
XII.
And they had fix'd the wedding-day, The morning that must wed them both; But Stephen to another maid Had sworn another oath; And with this other maid to church Unthinking Stephen went— Poor Martha! on that woful day A cruel, cruel fire, they say, Into her bones was sent: It dried her body like a cinder, And almost turn'd her brain to tinder.
XII.
They say, full six months after this, While yet the summer leaves were green, She to the mountain-top would go, And there was often seen. 'Tis said, a child was in her womb, As now to any eye was plain; She was with child, and she was mad, Yet often she was sober sad From her exceeding pain. Oh me! ten thousand times I'd rather, That he had died, that cruel father!
XIV.
Sad case for such a brain to hold Communion with a stirring child! Sad case, as you may think, for one Who had a brain so wild! Last Christmas when we talked of this, Old Farmer Simpson did maintain, That in her womb the infant wrought About its mother's heart, and brought Her senses back again: And when at last her time drew near, Her looks were calm, her senses clear.
XV.
No more I know, I wish I did, And I would tell it all to you; For what became of this poor child There's none that ever knew: And if a child was born or no, There's no one that could ever tell And if 'twas born alive or dead, There's no one knows, as I have said, But some remember well, That Martha Ray about this time Would up the mountain often climb.
XVI.
And all that winter, when at night The wind blew from the mountain-peak, 'Twas worth your while, though in the dark, The church-yard path to seek: For many a time and oft were heard Cries coming from the mountain-head, Some plainly living voices were, And others, I've heard many swear, Were voices of the dead: I cannot think, whate'er they say, They had to do with Martha Ray.
XVII.
But that she goes to this old thorn, The thorn which I've described to you, And there sits in a scarlet cloak, I will be sworn is true. For one day with my telescope, To view the ocean wide and bright, When to this country first I came, Ere I had heard of Martha's name, I climbed the mountain's height: A storm came on, and I could see No object higher than my knee.
XVIII.
'Twas mist and rain, and storm and rain, No screen, no fence could I discover, And then the wind! in faith, it was A wind full ten times over. Hooked around, I thought I saw A jutting crag, and off I ran, Head-foremost, through the driving rain, The shelter of the crag to gain, And, as I am a man, Instead of jutting crag, I found A woman seated on the ground.
XIX.
I did not speak—I saw her face, In truth it was enough for me; I turned about and heard her cry, "O misery! O misery!" And there she sits, until the moon Through half the clear blue sky will go, And when the little breezes make The waters of the pond to shake, As all the country know She shudders, and you hear her cry, "Oh misery! oh misery!"
XX.
"But what's the thorn? and what's the pond? And what's the hill of moss to her? And what's the creeping breeze that comes The little pond to stir?" I cannot tell; but some will say She hanged her baby on the tree, Some say she drowned it in the pond, Which is a little step beyond, But all and each agree, The little babe was buried there, Beneath that hill of moss so fair.
XXI.
I've heard, the moss is spotted red With drops of that poor infant's blood; But kill a new-born infant thus! I do not think she could. Some say, if to the pond you go, And fix on it a steady view, The shadow of a babe you trace, A baby and a baby's face, And that it looks at you; Whene'er you look on it, 'tis plain The baby looks at you again.
XXII.
And some had sworn an oath that she Should be to public justice brought; And for the little infant's bones With spades they would have sought. But then the beauteous bill of moss Before their eyes began to stir; And for full fifty yards around, The grass it shook upon the ground; But all do still aver The little babe is buried there. Beneath that hill of moss so fair.
XXIII.
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! O woe is me! oh misery!"
The Thorn Summary and Analysis
In The Thorn, a lone mountain landmark becomes the center of a disturbing rural tale told in a restless, gossiping voice. The poem begins with a detailed description of an old thorn tree, a muddy pool, and a moss-covered mound, but it quickly expands into a story about Martha Ray, a woman who is seen returning again and again to that place in visible grief. The poem's situation is less a single event than a layering of appearances, rumors, and partial recollections around a site that seems to hold some buried sorrow.
The speaker does not claim certainty, and that uncertainty is crucial. He repeats what he has heard, what others "say," and what he himself has glimpsed, while admitting again and again that the truth is unclear. Martha's broken engagement to Stephen Hill, her pregnancy, her apparent madness, and the possible death of her baby are all presented through fragments rather than firm explanation. The result is a poem that turns private tragedy into communal legend, yet never fully settles the question of guilt, victimhood, or what really lies beneath the moss. The poem's central tension comes from the clash between vivid physical detail and emotional unknowability: the landscape is minutely measured, but the human story resists any clean resolution.
Tone in The Thorn
Wordsworth's tone is mixed: curious, mournful, skeptical, and at moments almost theatrical in the way he relays the story. The poem's atmosphere, however, is more unsettling than the tone alone might suggest. The mountain feels isolated and haunted, and the repeated cries of "misery" create a mood of grief so persistent that it seems to cling to the air, the thorn, and even the water. The poet's careful observation coexists with a sense of dread, so the reader is left feeling both fascinated by the tale and uneasy about how much of it can ever be known.
This literary analysis was generated with AI and may contain interpretive differences. Provide your analysis in the comments section.
Themes in The Thorn
- Grief and mental collapse - Martha Ray's repeated cries and solitary returns to the mountain suggest a suffering that has become fixed and consuming, whether read as mourning, madness, or both.
- Uncertainty and rumor - The poem is built from hearsay, conflicting reports, and half-remembered details, making truth itself one of the poem's central concerns.
- Nature as witness - The thorn, pond, and mossy mound stand as silent features of the landscape that seem to hold memory, guilt, and sorrow beyond human explanation.
- Public judgment and compassion - The poem invites suspicion about Martha, but it also repeatedly undercuts certainty, pushing readers to balance moral censure with pity.
- Isolation - Martha is cut off from ordinary community life and found only in extreme weather and desolate places, reinforcing her emotional and social abandonment.
- Female vulnerability - Her ruined courtship and possible pregnancy place her in a position of deep dependence and exposed suffering within a harsh social world.
Literary Devices in The Thorn
- Ballad form - The poem uses repetition, direct address, and a storytelling voice associated with oral tradition, which makes the tragic tale feel like a widely circulated local legend.
- Repetition - Phrases such as Martha's cry and the recurring references to the thorn and pond mirror obsessive grief and also mimic the way rumors return in the community.
- Imagery - The poem's moss, lichens, storm winds, and scarlet cloak create a vivid physical setting that intensifies the emotional bleakness of the story.
- Contrast - Wordsworth sets the measured, almost exact description of place against the unstable, unknowable human tragedy that surrounds it.
- Hyperbole - Exaggerated claims about the weather, the woman's anguish, and the landscape's seeming actions heighten the poem's eerie, legendary quality.
- Personification - Moss and wind are described as if they have intent or force, making the natural world feel complicit in the sorrow of the scene.
- Framing narrative - The speaker continually interrupts himself, asks questions, and relays testimony from others, which keeps the story open-ended and unstable.
- Vivid local detail - Exact measurements and specific landmarks give the poem a documentary feel, even as the story itself remains uncertain.
Symbolism in The Thorn
- The thorn - The old, stunted tree can suggest endurance under suffering, but also stagnation and a life marked by damage.
- The pond - The still water may symbolize hidden depth, unresolved guilt, or a place where troubling truths are reflected but never clarified.
- The hill of moss - The moss-covered mound strongly suggests burial, memory, and the possibility of an unnamed grave.
- The scarlet cloak - Martha's red garment stands out against the bleak landscape and may symbolize visible pain, shame, or emotional extremity.
- The infant's grave-like mound - The resemblance to a child's grave gives the landscape a ghostly moral charge and ties the setting to the poem's darkest rumor.
Historical Context of The Thorn
Wordsworth wrote in the Romantic period, when poets often treated humble rural settings, local speech, and ordinary lives as worthy of serious art. The Thorn reflects that interest while also showing a darker side of Romantic storytelling: the poem borrows the shape of a traditional ballad but stretches it into a deliberately uncertain narrative of suffering, gossip, and social isolation. Its emphasis on landscape, memory, and emotional disturbance fits well within Romantic writing, especially the fascination with the boundary between imagination and fact.
The poem also belongs to a literary culture interested in the voices of common people and in the moral complexities of judging them. Rather than offering a neat explanation, it preserves contradiction and rumor, which is characteristic of a period that often questioned simple moral certainty. At the same time, its treatment of a woman's possible sexual transgression, pregnancy, and abandonment reflects the severe social pressures surrounding women in eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century Britain.
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