You'll love me yet
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!
Confirmed with Quiller-Couch, Arthur Thomas, Sir. The Oxford Book of English Verse. Oxford: Clarendon, 1919, [c1901]; Bartleby.com, 1999. www.bartleby.com/101/719.html.
Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
Text added to the website: 2015-10-07 00:00:00.
Last modified: 2015-10-07 09:17:48
Line count: 12
Word count: 78
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