Love, wilt thou love me still when wintry streak <br />Steals on the tresses of autumnal brow; <br />When the pale rose hath perished in my cheek, <br />And those are wrinkles that are dimples now? <br />Wilt thou, when this fond arm that here I twine <br />Round thy dear neck to help thee in thy need, <br />Droops faint and feeble, and hath need of thine, <br />Be then my prop, and not a broken reed? <br />When thou canst only glean along the Past, <br />And garner in thy heart what Time doth leave, <br />O, wilt thou then to me, love, cling as fast <br />As nest of April to December eave; <br />And, while my beauty dwindles and decays, <br />Still warm thee by the embers of my gaze?<br /><br />Alfred Austin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-question-29/
