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!)