Celia, To Celia, To |
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Celia, ToCelia, To
Celia, To
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 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!
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