Friday, February 13, 2009

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 5
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 10
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, 15
Not of itself but thee!

Ben Jonson 1573–1637

2 comments:

  1. Ahhh - Henry! Love it! Some of the best stuff came from so long ago.

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