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Ben Jonson - IX: Song: To Celia
Work rating: Medium

Drink to me, only, with thine eyes,
  And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kisse but in the cup,
  And Ile not look for wine.
The thirst, that from the soule doth rise,
  Doth aske a drink divine:
But might I of Jove`s Nectar sup,
  I would not change for thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosie wreath,
  Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
  It could not withered be.
But thou thereon did`st onely breathe,
  And sent`st it back to mee:
Since when it growes, and smells, I sweare,
  Not of it selfe, but thee.
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