Swarthy Falernian, Massica the Red,
Were ye the nectars poured
At the great gods’ broad board?
No, poor old wines, all but in name long dead,
Nectar’s Champagne—the sparkling soul of mirth,
That, bubbling o’er with laughing gas,
Flashes gay sunbeams in the glass,
And like our flag goes proudly round the earth.
‘I am the blood Burgundian sunshine makes;
A fine old feudal knight,