The ivy, a monograph

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Groombridge and Sons, 1872

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Página 14 - There is a stern round tower of other days, ' Firm as a fortress, with its fence of stone, Such as an army's baffled strength delays, Standing with half its battlements alone, And with two thousand years of ivy grown, The garland of eternity, where wave The green leaves over all by time o'erthrown ; — What was this tower of strength ? within its cave What treasure lay so lock'd, so hid ? — A woman's grave.
Página 14 - 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.
Página 30 - 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.
Página 31 - A THING of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Página 15 - OH ! how could Fancy crown with thee, In ancient days, the god of wine, And bid thee at the banquet be, Companion of the vine ? Thy home, wild plant, is where each sound Of revelry hath long been o'er ; Where song's full notes once peal'd around, But now are heard no more.
Página 33 - With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love.
Página 40 - Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass ; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro...
Página 51 - FLOWER in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower — but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.
Página 5 - And here had fall'na great part of a tower, Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff, And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers...
Página 15 - Better thou lov'st the silent scene, Around the victor's grave. Where sleep the sons of ages flown, The bards and heroes of the past ; Where through the halls of glory gone, Murmurs the wintry blast ; Where years are hastening to efface, Each record of the grand and fair ; Thou, in thy solitary grace, Wreath of the tomb, art there...

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