Jvy —Friendship, 
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 meat for him. 
Creeping where no life is seen, 
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 i 
A rare old plant is the Ivy green. 
C. Dickens. 
22 
