There's also Ben Jonson's "Song: To Celia"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 breath And sent'st it back to me: Since, when it grows and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee. It's sweetly romantic.