A Selection from the Lyrical Poems of Robert Herrick

217. COMFORT TO A YOUTH THAT HAD LOST HIS LOVE

     What needs complaints,
     When she a place
     Has with the race
     Of saints?
     In endless mirth,
     She thinks not on
     What's said or done
     In earth:
     She sees no tears,
     Or any tone
     Of thy deep groan
     She hears;
     Nor does she mind,
     Or think on't now,
     That ever thou
     Wast kind:—
     But changed above,
     She likes not there,
     As she did here,
     Thy love.
     —Forbear, therefore,
     And lull asleep
     Thy woes, and weep
     No more.