Vain, all in vain! O Love, thou dost not hear; 
  Thou art too lost in sleep to wake again; 
In vain my song, in vain the falling tear, 
  Vain, all in vain! 

She will not wake again till Gabriel sings; 
  For any mortal music we can make. 
My lute and I, with these heart-broicen strings, 
  She will not wake. 

Sleep then, ah! sleep -- if slumber be thy will; 
  We would not vex thee, though we needs must weep. 
Of slumber everlasting take thy fill --
  Sleep then, ah! sleep.