Below, Ben Jonson's "To Celia." To my readers, all 5 or so of you, wishing you a Mother's day that has a smacking of romance in it, and sees you as the better self you'd like to be, the younger self you used to be, the lovely self you hope to be and perhaps the best mother you sometimes are.
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.