Think Of It Not, Sweet One

THINK not of it, sweet one, so;--Give
it not a tear;

Sigh thou mayst, and bid it go
Any---anywhere.

Do not lool 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,

E'en let us too! but be our dirge
A dirge of kisses.