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 honouring thee
As 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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Comments
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Ben Jonson's Song to Celia
From guest Caitilin from Cork (contact)
"is little more..." perhaps that skill may be better savoured and enjoyed than so dimly dimissed. -
A beautiful poem! This is why I love this place so much. Oldpoetry is bringing together the memorable words from throughout the ages and making them available for all to enjoy.
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I've always loved this poem... although I've not heard the second verse before.. I used to play the first one on piano though. *grins* although I can't say it's what inspired me to poetry I still love it, I loved the music and the words!
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superfantastic!!!
*claps wildly* encore, encore! this is one of the FIRST EVER poems I read. just imagine, without it, I may never have fallen in love with poetry! I can't stress how much this poem is to me. I've memorized it, and, though it may seem silly at first reading, it is truly a delightful poem. just look at the philosophy in this! why couldn't all the generations of modern poets produce one poem like this, I'd like to know...
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