Gaiety

Poem by Gérard De Nerval Period 19th century

Little pint of Mareuil,
Clearer than an Argenteuil wine,
How sovereign is your flavor!
The Romans did not understand you
When, dwelling in ancient Paris,
They preferred Surène to you.

Your rosy liquor, O lovely wine!
Seems made from the divine blood
Of some woodland nymph;
You bead at the longed-for rim
Of a ribbed glass, colored
By the tints of the fern.

You cure me in summertime
Of the thirst that a more praised wine
Had left me since the day before;
Your taste, tart yet sweet as well,
Seizing my thickened palate,
Refreshes me when I awake.

What! so gay from the morning on,
I tread with an uncertain foot
The path where your vine-shoot greens!…
— And I have no Richelet
To finish this learned couplet…
And find a rhyme in ampre.

Gérard de Nerval

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-gaiety-gerard-de-nerval/