| 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 hon’ring 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. |
This shortlink
https://1000-good-songs.org/p/64