Song To Celia - II
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rink 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 honouring theeAs 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.
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