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! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MAN WITH THE HOE OUTWITTED by EDWIN MARKHAM KATHMANDU GUEST HOUSE by KAREN SWENSON THE IMPROVISATORE: THE INDUCTION TO THE THIRD FYTTE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES UNTIL DEATH by ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH BOTTA YOUNGSTER AND OLDSTER by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON TO CELIA, UPON LOVE'S UBIQUITY by THOMAS CAREW |