"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..."

Keats