Never Again

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 hon’ring thee As giving it a hope that there

It could not withered be;

But thou thereon did’st only breathe,

And sent’st it back to me,

Since when it grows and smells, I swear

Not of itself, but thee.