Lips that first taste thy asper charm are shy;
Thou art not lightly wooed to prove a friend,
But, when all hesitations surely end,
How finely, fully, dost thou satisfy!

The sturdy essences that in thee lie,
With fumes tumultuous to the brain ascend,
And with a Herculean vigor rend
All lingering doubts and force their passage by.

And when I drink thee in some gabled inn,
Deep in the alleys of a Flemish town,
While buxom villagers around me romp,
I hear old, garrulous crones again begin
The story all of wonder and renown,
That still keeps green the laurels of Van Tromp!