Love me. I care not what the circling years To me may do. If, but in spite of time and tears, You prove but true. Love me-albeit grief shall dim mine eyes, And tears bedew, I shall not even complain, for then my skies Shall still be blue. Love me, and though the winter snow shall pile, And leave me chill, Thy passion's warmth shall make for me, meanwhile, A sun-kissed hill. And when the days have lengthened into years, And I grow old, Oh, spite of pains and grief's and cares and fears, Grow thou not cold. Then hand and hand we shall pass up the hill, I say not down; That twain go up, of love, who've loved their fill, To gain love's crown. Love me, and let my life take up thine own, As sun the dew. Come, sit, my queen, for in my heart a throne Awaits for you!

— Paul Laurence Dunbar

Poet