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 withered 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/song-to-celia/
