On your midnight pallet lying,

Listen, and undo the door:

Lads that waste the light in sighing

In the dark should sigh no more;

Night should ease a lover’s sorrow;

Therefore, since I go to-morrow,

Pity me before.

In the land to which I travel,

The far dwelling, let me say–

Once, if here the couch is gravel,

In a kinder bed I lay,

And the breast the darnel smothers

Rested once upon another’s

When it was not clay.