羅伯特·勃朗寧

You'll love me yet！

and I can tarry your love's protracted growing.

June rear'd that bunch of flowers you carry,

From seeds of April's sowing.

I plant a heartful 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！

你總有愛(ài)我的一天，

我能等著你的愛(ài)慢慢地長(zhǎng)大。

你手里提的那把花，

不也是四月下的種子，六月開(kāi)的嗎？

如今我在心里撒滿(mǎn)愛(ài)的種子，

至少有一兩粒會(huì)發(fā)芽吧。

然后開(kāi)花了，你也不會(huì)去采的。

沒(méi)有愛(ài)，至少，會(huì)有點(diǎn)喜歡吧。

你總會(huì)看一眼，

我墳頭的紫羅蘭。

那一眼，抵了我萬(wàn)千煩惱。

死又怎樣？你總有愛(ài)我的一天。