Song 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, 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, 10As giving it a hope, that thereIt 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, Not of itself, but thee.