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!)SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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