Think, sweetest, if my lids are now not wet,
  The tenderest tears lie ready at the brim,
  To see thine own dear eyes -- so pale and dim -- 
Touching my soul with full and fond regret,
For on thy ease my heart's whole care is set;
  Seeing I love thee in no passionate whim,
  Whose summer dates but with the rose's trim,
Which one hot June can perish and beget, -- 
Ah no, I chose thee for affection's pet,
  For unworn love, and constant cherishing -- 
To smile but to thy smile -- or else to fret
  When thou art fretted -- rather than to sing
Elsewhere, -- alas! I ought to soothe and kiss
Thy dear pale cheek, while I assure thee this!