Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
V. Trees: Flowers: PlantsThe Ivy Green
Charles Dickens (18121870)O,
That creepeth o’er ruins old!
Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
The walls must be crumbled, the stones 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.
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,
And he joyously twines and hugs around
The rich mould of dead men’s graves.
Creeping where grim death has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
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.