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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341295" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Fragment</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341295" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Should fickle hands in far-off days<br>No longer stroke thy hair,<br>And lips that once were proud to praise<br>Forget to call thee fair,<br>Sigh but my name, and though I be<br>Mute in the churchyard mould,<br>I will arise and come to thee,<br>And worship as of old.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341295" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And should I meet the wrinkled brow,<br>Or find the silver tress,<br>What were't to me, it would be thou,<br>I could not love thee less.<br>'Gainst love time wages bootless strife,<br>What now is would be then;<br>The cry that brought me back to life<br>Would make thee young again.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Alfred+Austin">Alfred Austin</a></strong></div>

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