Celia's Song

JONSON, BEN
Just with thine eyes, drink to me.

And I'll make a promise with my own;

Alternatively, leave a kiss in the cup.

And I'm not going to look for wine.

The hunger that arises in the soul

Doth enquire of a divine drink;

But may I drink of Jove's nectar?

I wouldn't trade you for anything.

I sent thee a rosy wreath late,

It's not so much about honoring thee as it is about honoring yourself.

It's as if it's giving it hope.

It couldn't possibly have withered.

But all you did there was breathe.

Then you returned it to me;

I swear, it's been growing and smelling since then.

It's not because of itself, but because of thee.