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 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 honoring thee,
• As giving it a hope, that there
• It could not wither'd 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.