Drink to me only with thine eyes, br And I will pledge with mine; br Or leave a kiss but in the cup, br And I'll not look for wine. br The thirst that from the soul doth rise br Doth ask a drink divine; br But might I of Jove's nectar sup, br I would not change for thine. br br I sent thee late a rosy wreath, br Not so much honouring thee br As giving it a hope, that there br It could not withered be. br But thou thereon didst only breathe, br And sent'st it back to me; br Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, br Not of itself, but thee.