Nay! Ivy, nay! It shall not be, iwis: Let Holy have the maistry, As the manner is. Holy stond in the hall Faire to behold: Ivy stond without the dore -- She is full sore acold. Holy and his mery men They daunsen and they sing; Ivy and her maidenes They wepen and they wring. Ivy hath a kibe -- She caght it with the colde. So mot they all have ay That with Ivy hold. Holy hath beris As rede as any rose: The foster, the hunters Kepe hem fro the doos. Ivy hath beris As blake as any slo: Ther com the owle And ete hem as she goo. Holy hath birdes, A full faire flok: The nightingale, the poppyinguy, The gayntil laverok. Gode Ivy, gode Ivy, What birdes hast thou? Non but the owlet That creye, "How! how!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO KNOW IN REVERIE THE ONLY PHENOMENOLOGY OF THE ABSOLUTE by HAYDEN CARRUTH EVENING IN A SUGAR ORCHARD by ROBERT FROST ILLUSIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MY BOY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SURFACES AND MASKS; 3 by CLARENCE MAJOR DOMESDAY BOOK: HENRY BAKER, AT NEW YORK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |