The ruin-clinging ivy Time can kill,
But not avert thy worship from its thrall,
Till comes the destined hour, and instant bids thee fall!
II.
In summer skies I saw serenely bright
Creation smile o’er pastoral cottage fair.
Effulgent glory dwelt in loveliest light
On copse and garden, hedge and homestead there.
It seemed as exiled from that spot was Care!
Sudden a cloud o’ergathering, fringed with red,