Sunday, March 27, 2011
Sunday poetry - Ben Jonson
One of my favourite Jonson poems is the lament he wrote on the death of his son. But, that isn't in the anthology I'm choosing my Sunday poems from & I wanted something a little happier. So, this is To Celia. It encapsulates all that heady, living on love alone, feeling at the beginning of a love affair.
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 theron didst only breathe,
And send'st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself but thee!