IF thou wilt ease thine heart 
Of love and all its smart, 
 Then sleep, dear, sleep; 
And not a sorrow 
 Hang any tear on your eye-lashes; 
 Lie still and deep, 
 Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes 
The rim o? the sun to-morrow, 
 In eastern sky. 
 
But wilt thou cure thine heart 
Of love and all its smart, 
 Then die, dear, die; 
?T is deeper, sweeter, 
 Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming 
 With folded eye; 
 And then alone, amid the beaming 
Of love?s stars, thou ?lt meet her 
 In eastern sky.