J. Neruda (1834–1891)
“Come, Bushek, drink. Be no more sad!
Thy king’s wise words now savour.
My tongue discerning (as ’tis known)
Has found this wine’s own flavour.
It hath its own peculiar charm,
One needs must try, dear Bushek, see—
First harsh perhaps, yet sweeter then,
Its taste by now is come to me.”
“Why, see, my lord, just so our folk—
With temper strange and seeming rude—
Yet flowers in beauty all its own.”
Vilhart, at once in merry mood,
Thus suddenly his silence broke.
“Look close upon that folk, I pray,
And thou to them wilt press thy lips,
Nor ever take thy lips away.”