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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,
As giving it a hope that there
     It could not withered be.
But thou thereon dids't only breathe,
     And sent'st it back to me;
Since when, it grows, and smells, I swear,
     Not of itself, but thee.

               [Philostratus (Trans. by Ben Johnson)]



 
copyright, Kellscraft Studio, 1999

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