Saturday, June 15, 2013

To Celia - A Poem by Ben Johnson

Frank Cadogan Cowper, Vanity
 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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