One evening, the soul of wine sang in the bottles:
"Toward you, oh dear, disinherited man,
I send forth a song full of light and brotherhood
From beneath my prison of glass and rosy wax!
I know, on the hill in flames, how much
Labor and sweat and baking sun it takes
To engender my life and to give me soul;
But I will not be at all ungrateful or harmful,
For I feel an immense joy when I fall
Down the throat of a man worn out by his labors,
And his hot chest is a sweet tomb
In which I enjoy myself much more than in my cold cellars.