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Post by stormcat on Mar 19, 2007 16:22:26 GMT -5
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 then it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee!
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Post by Der Trommler on Mar 21, 2007 7:22:48 GMT -5
This is very good...I've never heard of Ben Jonson
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Post by KittyLane on Mar 21, 2007 8:43:17 GMT -5
That was beautiful storm. Thanks for the share.
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Post by stormcat on Mar 21, 2007 19:01:30 GMT -5
I believe he was Irish? Scot? Born 1573- Died 1637 I've always liked this poem. >^..^<
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Post by KittyLane on Mar 21, 2007 21:23:42 GMT -5
even more reason to like it! lol
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