A word to England

An Easterner tasted once the wine in Europe’s glass; No wonder if he broke old vows in reckless glee.

The blood came surging up in the veins of his new born thought: Predestination’s bondslave he learned that Man is free.

Let not thy soul be vexed with the drunkards’ noise and rout! O saki, tell me fairly, who was’t that broached this jar?

The scent of the rose showed first the way into the garden; Else, how should the nightingale have known that roses are?