Part 2 — SONG
Reading edition
From "Pippa Passes"
You'll love me yet—and I can tarry Your love's protracted growing: June reared that bunch of flowers you carry, From seeds of April's sowing.
I plant a heartfull 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!
Robert Browning [1812-1889]