|
Song 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 wither\'d 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.
|
Tylko zarejestrowani użytkownicy mog± pisać komentarze. Zarejestruj się lub zaloguj. |