Drink to me only with thine eyes And I will pledge with mine Or leave a kiss within the cup And I'll not ask for wine The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine But might I of Jove's nectar sip I would not change for thine
I sent thee late a rosy wreath Not so much honoring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be But thou thereon did only breathe And sent it back to me Since when it grows and smells, I swear Not of itself, but thee