Joseph Rodman Drake

To Eva

A beam upon the myrtle fell
   From dewy evening’s purest sky,
’Twas like the glance I love so well,
   Dear Eva, from thy moonlight eye.

I looked around the summer grove,
   On every tree its lustre shone;
For all had felt that look of love
   The silly myrtle deemed its own.

Eva! behold thine image there,
   As fair, as false thy glances fall;
But who the worthless smile would share
   That sheds its light alike on all.