English Poetry III: From Tennyson to Whitman.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Robert Browning
667. Youll Love Me Yet
Y
Your love’s protracted growing:
June rear’d that bunch of flowers you carry,
From seeds of April’s sowing.
At least is sure to strike,
And yield—what you’ll not pluck indeed,
Not love, but, may be, like.
A grave’s one violet:
Your look?—that pays a thousand pains.
What’s death? You’ll love me yet!