To ----: Think not of it, sweet one, so

Think not of it, sweet one, so ;—
Give it not a tear;
Sigh thou mayst, and bid it go
Any, any where.

Do not look so sad, sweet one, —
Sad and fadingly ;
Shed one drop, then it is gone,
O 'twas born to die.

Still so pale? then dearest weep;
Weep, I'll count the tears,
And each one shall be a bliss
For thee in after years.

Brighter has it left thine eyes
Than a sunny rill;
And thy whispering melodies
Are tenderer still.
Yet — as all things mourn awhile
At fleeting blisses,
Let us too ! but be our dirge
A dirge of kisses.