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Updated: May 7, 2025
THE ivy in a dungeon grew, Unfed by rain, uncheered by dew; Its pallid leaflets only drank Cave-moistures foul, and odours dank. But through the dungeon-grating high There fell a sunbeam from the sky; It slept upon the grateful floor In silent gladness evermore. The ivy felt a tremor shoot Through all its fibres to the root; It felt the light, it saw the ray, It strove to blossom into day.
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