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.