Charles Dickens
The Ivy Green
Oh, 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 slily 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 has 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