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.

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