Classic Poem

The place where soon I think to lie,
In its old creviced wall hard-by
Rears many a weed.
Whoever leads you there, will you
Drop slily in a grain or two
Of wall-flower seed?

I shall not see it, and (too sure)
I shall not ever know that your
Dear hand was there;
But the rich odor some fine day.
Shall (what I can not do) repay
That little care.