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 ask for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise, Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of love's nectar sup, 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 didst only breathe,and sent'st it back to me. Since when it grows,
and smells, I swear not of itself but thee.
Ben Johnson (1573 - 1637)
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