That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow But thinking of a wreath, * * * I like such ivy; bold to leap a height Twas strong to climb! as good to grow on graves As twist about a thyrsus; pretty too (And thats not ill) when twisted round a comb. E. B. BrowningAurora Leigh. Bk. II.
Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green, That creepeth oer ruins old! Of right choice food are his meals I ween, In his cell so lone and cold. * * * * Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the ivy green. DickensPickwick. Ch. VI.