Here’s to thy skies, thy women and thy flowers!
France! take the toast, thy women and thy roses,
France! to thy wine, more wealth unto thy store!
And let the lips a grievous memory closes
Smile their proud smile once more!
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;