To the brave Bacchanalian all wines are the same:
For the best of Champagne and the mildest of Cape
Are alike manufactured from juice of the grape.
What matters it whether the North or the South
May have yielded its blood for the epicure's mouth?
What matters it whether the East or the West
May have sent the rich fluid that gladdens this breast?
Amidst Burgundy's hills or the plains of Bordeaux
May the national fruit long continue to grow.
May the art of fermenting improve day by day,