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
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.
Charles Dickens
Charles Dickens (born February 7, 1812, Portsmouth, Hampshire, England—died June 9, 1870, Gad’s Hill, near Chatham, Kent) English novelist, generally considered the greatest of the Victorian era. His many volumes include such works as A Christmas Carol, David Copperfield, Bleak House, A Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations, and Our Mutual Friend. Dickens enjoyed a wider popularity during his lifetime than had any previous author. Much in his work could appeal to the simple and the sophisticated, to the poor and to the queen, and technological developments as well as the qualities of his work enabled his fame to spread worldwide very quickly.