To Celia

Drinke to me, onely, with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kisse but in the cup,
And Ile not looke for wine.
The thirst, that from the soule doth rise,
Doth aske a drinke divine:
But might I of Jove's Nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosie wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered bee.
But thou thereon did'st onely breath,
And sent'st it back to mee:
Since when it growes, and smells, I sweare,
Not of it selfe, but thee.

by Ben Jonson

Comments (10)

A beautifully rhymed sonnet.... the intense love is so evident.
there's a great poem written with same title in my country... this one is really beautiful poem written almost 400 years ago.
Since when it growes, and smells, I sweare, Not of it selfe, but thee. strong love...strong hope...lovely
Drinke to me, onely, with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine;
Sweet poem.... thanks for sharing....
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