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!