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Photographer's Note

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 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.

— Ben Johnson (1572-1637)

Huntington Library, Pasadena, California. I had memorized Ben Johnson's immortal lines as a high school student. As I gazed upon these roses I imagined they too could have inspired Johnson when he composed, "Song: To Celia."

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Additional Photos by Bulent Atalay (batalay) Gold Star Critiquer/Gold Star Workshop Editor/Gold Note Writer [C: 6021 W: 457 N: 10456] (35061)
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