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.