Song to Celia II

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,

      Not so much honouring thee

  As giving it a hope, that there

      It could not 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.