Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss within the cup,
And I’ll not ask for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove’s nectar sip,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring 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.

Og op af erindringens furer dukkede linjen “drink to me only with thine eyes” og noget af melodien til den ældgamle sang, vi sang i skolen, og som datere sig helt tilbage til 1616, hvor digteren Ben Johnson skrev teksten, digtet “Song. To Celia”. En af den slags sange, der har det med at fæste sig i erindringen. Sikkert fordi det er en kærligheds-pop-sang fra en tid, hvor pop bare var folkets sange.