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