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 eyelashes;
   Lie still and deep,
With folded eye;
   Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes
The rim o' th' sun tomorrow,
   In eastern sky.

But wilt thou cure thine heart
Of love and all its smart,
   Then die, dear, die;
'Tis deeper, sweeter,
   Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming
    ... 
   And then alone, amid the beaming
Of love's stars, thou'lt meet her
   In eastern sky.