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 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