Classic Poem

Can you forego me? Treat me like a thing
More trivial than a flower, and less dear?
Think for a while. Can you forego the spring,
Forfeit the one mad weather of the year?
I press between you and each yesterday;
Smelling of wind, of white brier in the dew,
From the grave's edge, and from the shrill, trodden way,
I that am ghost, reach to the ghost in you.
Foregoing spring, you thus can forego me,
And bare of me, of spring you shall go bare.
Leave me or choose me. Yet it matters not.
I shall possess you as the root the tree;
Take of your candlelight and loaf my share;
Read in your books, dig in your garden plot.