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rink 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 souldoth rise,Doth ask a drink divine, But might I of Jove’s nectar sup I would not change for thine.Isent thee late a rosy wreath,Not so much honring thee,As giving is a hope that there,It could not withered be.But thou thereon didst only breathe,And send’st it back to me.Since when it grows and smells I swear, Not of itself but thee.
rink 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 souldoth rise, Doth ask a drink divine, But might I of Jove’s nectar sup I would not change for thine.Isent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honring thee, As giving is a hope that there, It could not be withered be.But thou not been only only breathe, And send’st it back to me.Since when it grows and smells I swear, Not of itself but thee.