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.