Song: To Celia
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I’ll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
No so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope that there
It could no withered be.
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent’st it back to me,
Since when it grows and smells, I swear,
Not of itself but thee.