| 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 did’st only breathe
|
| And sent’st it back to me
|
| Since when it grows and smells, I swear
|
| Not of itself, but thee
|
| 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 |