And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale. [ Milton ]

Now blooms the lily by the bank.
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milkwhite is the slae. [ Burns ]

Yet, all beneath the unrivalled 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. [ Burns ]

The hawthorn trees blow in the dew of the morning. [ Burns ]

Then sing by turns, by turns the Muses sing; Now hawthorns blossom. [ Pope ]