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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 through 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!)
Other works by Robert Browning...



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