The Old Ivy.
From the ancient turret’s window, where encroached the
ivy sprays,1
ivy sprays,1
I saw the long procession wend along the varied maze ;2
All with solemn pomp and triumph, yet with unassuming
grace,3
grace,3
Did it march athwart the valley, climb the mountain’s
ridgy face.4
ridgy face.4
Pure and brilliant was the vesture of the pilgrims in the
train ;5
train ;5
Spotless green, and gold, and purple, shone on upland and
on plain ;6
on plain ;6
All the air was filled with incense from the censers that
they bore,7
they bore,7
And the murmur of the river blent with music from its
shore.8
shore.8
The old ivy round the turret, which amid the winter’s
gloom,9
gloom,9
Ever clustered round the lattice, ever cheered me with its
bloom—10
bloom—10
This old friend was now forgotten, while in high elated
mood,11
mood,11
I gazed out on Spring’s proccession, filling valley, mead,
and wood.12
and wood.12
Below the old turret window the procession passed again,13
But no pomp nor stately triumph graced the passage of
the train ;14
the train ;14
Some, whose heads drooped down in languor, slowly
glided out of sight,15
glided out of sight,15
While the rest were fiercely driven in confused and
hurried flight.16
hurried flight.16
Then, I looked, upon the ivy through the window dimmed
with frost ;17
with frost ;17
And I said : ‘ Though Summer’s vanished, all her pride
and glory lost,18
and glory lost,18
Yet thou, old friend, all blooming, in despite of wintry
blasts,19
blasts,19
Wilt cleave to the gray old turret, while a broken remnant
lasts.’20
lasts.’20