THE IVY GREEN
by: Charles Dickens (1812-1870)
- H, a dainty plant is the Ivy green,
- That creepeth o'er ruins old!
- Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,
- In his cell so lone and cold.
- The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,
- To pleasure his dainty whim:
- And the mouldering dust that years have made
- Is a merry meal for him.
- Creeping where no life is seen,
- A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
-
- Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,
- And a staunch old heart has he.
- How closely he twineth, how tight he clings
- To his friend the huge Oak Tree!
- And slyly he traileth along the ground,
- And his leaves he gently waves,
- As he joyously hugs and crawleth round
- The rich mould of dead men's graves.
- Creeping where grim death hath been,
- A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
-
- Whole ages have fled and their works decayed,
- And nations have scattered been;
- But the stout old Ivy shall never fade,
- From its hale and hearty green.
- The brave old plant, in its lonely days,
- Shall fatten upon the past:
- For the stateliest building man can raise
- Is the Ivy's food at last.
- Creeping on where time has been,
- A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
"The Ivy Green" is reprinted
from The Poems and Verse of Charles Dickens. Ed. F.G.
Kitton. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1903. |
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