Читать книгу The Golden Treasury - Unknown - Страница 94

     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!