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 there on didn't only breathe

And sent'st it back to me

Since when it grows and smells I swear

Not of itself but thee