Pietra Pan

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 honoring 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 when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee. - Ben Johnson

Picture Perfect

Hugo Tribute

Nope, it's NOT Hugo!

Donning Spectacles

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX