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James Thomson - To Myra
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O thou, whose tender serious eyes
   Expressive speak the mind I love;
The gentle azure of the skies,
   The pensive shadows of the grove;

O mix their beauteous beams with mine,
   And let us interchange our hearts;
Let all their sweetness on me shine,
   Poured through my soul be all their darts.

Ah! `tis too much! I cannot bear
   At once so soft, so keen a ray:
In pity then, my lovely fair,
   O turn those killing eyes away!

But what avails it to conceal
   One charm, where nought but charms I see?
Their lustre then again reveal,
   And let me, Myra, die of thee!
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