Explore "The Thorn" by William Dean Howells on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"Every Rose, you sang, has its Thorn, / But this has none, I know. " / She clasped my rival's Rose / Over her breast of snow.
I bowed to hide my pain, / With a man's unskilful art; / I moved my lips, and could not say / The Thorn was in my heart!