And yet, I think, whoe’er they be,
They love thee not like me.
Perhaps when time shall add a few
Short months to thee, thou’lt love me too;
And after that, through life’s long way.
Become my sure and cheering stay:
Wilt care for me and be my hold,
When I am weak and old.
Thou’lt listen to my lengthen’d tale,
And pity me when I am frail—