Earth's Immortalities

Fame See, as the prettiest graves will do in time, Our poet's wants the freshness of its prime; Spite of the sexton's browsing horse, the sods Have struggled thro' its binding osier-rods; Headstone and half-sunk footstone lean awry, Wanting the brick-work promised by-and-by; How the minute grey lichens, plate o'er plate, Have softened down the crisp-cut name and date! Love So, the year's done with (Love me for ever!) All March begun with, April's endeavour; May-wreaths that bound me June needs must sever; Now snows fall round me, Quenching June's fever, (Love me for ever!)