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.

by Thomas Lovell Beddoes (1803–49)