Classic Poem

Dry be that tear, my gentlest love,
Be hush'd that struggling sigh,
Nor seasons, day, nor fate shall prove
More fix'd, more true than I.
Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear,
Cease boding doubt, cease anxious fear. —
Dry be that tear.

Ask'st thou how long my love will stay,
When all that's new is past? —
How long, ah, Delia, can I say
How long my life will last?
Dry be that tear, be hush'd that sigh,
At least, I'll love thee till I die. —
Hush'd be that sigh.

And does that thought affect thee too,
The thought of Sylvio's death —
That he who only breath'd for you,
Must yield that faithful breath?
Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear,
Nor let us lose our Heaven here. —
Dry be that tear.