Ben Jonson’s speaker asks Celia to drink to him only with her eyes, and he will pledge with his. A kiss left in the cup would replace wine entirely. The thirst that rises from his soul, he says, asks for a drink divine, and even Jove’s nectar would not compare to hers. He also sent a rosy wreath, not so much to honor her as in the hope that, in her presence, it would never wither. She merely breathed on it and sent it back; since then, it grows and smells not of itself, but of her. Love becomes something almost sacramental, where a glance or a breath transforms ordinary things. The mood is intimate and ethereal—a quiet, fervent longing that reaches beyond the physical, like a yearning to merge two souls.
Song To Celia - II — Summary
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.