Dramatic Lyrics, by Robert Browning

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!

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!)