YOU'LL love me yet!—and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing:
June rear'd that bunch of flowers you carry,
From seeds of April's sowing.
I plant a heartful now: some seed
At least is sure to strike,
And yield—what you'll not pluck indeed,
Not love, but, may be, like.
You'll look at least on love's remains,
A grave 's one violet:
Your look?—that pays a thousand pains.
What 's death? You'll love me yet!
|About the poet|
|By the same poet|
|My Last Duchess|
|The Lost Leader|
|The Pied Piper of Hamelin|
|Home Thoughts, from Abroad|
|Home Thoughts, from the Sea|
|How they Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix|
|Song from 'Paracelsus'|
|Thus the Mayne glideth|
|Earl Mertoun's Song|
|In a Gondola|
|Meeting at Night|
|Parting at Morning|
|The Lost Mistress|
|The Last Ride together|
|Robert Browning at amazon.co.uk|