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！

你總有愛我的一天，

我能等著你的愛慢慢地長大。

你手里提的那把花，

不也是四月下的種子，六月開的嗎？

如今我在心里撒滿愛的種子，

至少有一兩粒會發(fā)芽吧。

然后開花了，你也不會去采的。

沒有愛，至少，會有點喜歡吧。

你總會看一眼，

我墳頭的紫羅蘭。

那一眼，抵了我萬千煩惱。

死又怎樣？你總有愛我的一天。