I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me,
⁠There's nothing lovely here;
And doubly will the dark world grieve me,
⁠While thy heart suffers there.

I'll not weep, because the summer's glory
⁠Must always end in gloom;
And, follow out the happiest story—
⁠It closes with a tomb!

And I am weary of the anguish
⁠Increasing winters bear;
Weary to watch the spirit languish
⁠Through years of dead despair.

So, if a tear, when thou art dying,
⁠Should haply fall from me,
It is but that my soul is sighing,
⁠To go and rest with thee.