FastSaying
On my velvet couch reclining, Ivy leaves my brow entwining, While my soul expands with glee, What are kings and crowns to me?
Thomas Moore
Ivy
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Where round some mould'ring tow'r pale ivy creeps, And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
— Alexander Pope
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As creeping ivy clings to wood or stone, And hides the ruin that it feeds upon.
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Wall must get the weather stain Before they grow the ivy.
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For ivy climbs the crumbling hall To decorate decay.
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Bring, bring the madding Bay, the drunken wine; The creeping, dirty, courtly Ivy join.
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