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There was a poor old house
That once was full of falk,
But now was sad and empty,
And to me it spoke.
It said, ' They all have fled,
My rooms are cold and bare,
The front door's locked and bolted,
And all the windows stare.
No smoke comes out of my chimneys,
No rose grows up the wall,
But only ivy shrouds me,
In a green and shining shawl!
No postman brings me letters,
No name is on my gate,
I once was called the ' Ivies ' ,
But now, I'm out of date.
The garden's poor and weedy,
The trees won't leaf again,
But though I fall ruin,
The ivy - will - remain! '
