DRINK to me only with thine eyes, <br /> And I will pledge with mine; <br />Or leave a kiss but in the cup <br /> And I'll not look for wine. <br />The thirst that from the soul doth rise <br /> Doth ask a drink divine; <br />But might I of Jove's nectar sup, <br /> I would not change for thine. <br /> <br />I sent thee late a rosy wreath, <br /> Not so much honouring thee <br />As giving it a hope that there <br /> It could not wither'd be; <br />But thou thereon didst only breathe, <br /> And sent'st it back to me; <br />Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, <br /> Not of itself but thee!<br /><br />Benjamin Jonson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-celia-3/
