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 eye-lashes; Lie still and deep, Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes The rim o? the sun to-morrow, In eastern sky. But wilt thou cure thine heart Of love and all its smart, Then die, dear, die; ?T is deeper, sweeter, Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming With folded eye; And then alone, amid the beaming Of love?s stars, thou ?lt meet her In eastern sky.