O Tea! No other drink is more desired
Than you, who countless times has brought relief
Incomparable to refreshments uninspired;
All beverages submit to you as chief
Whose brow is ringed with a steamy crown
And who when days are cold and ruled by rain
Brings profound pleasure, warmth and comfort, thus
You are unequalled! O brew of high renown!
May you be loved forever, and ordain
Eternal desk companionship on us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Here here! ! So satisfied I'll 'ave you know that our Britanic ancestors went to the edge of the world to kill for it, plunder it and set up our own tea growing facilties with slave labour. But it's good to know that it is far from the association of Imperialistic exploitation; more an innocent and jolly symbol of ease nowadays; a speciality of the many inhabitants of Manchester. Ahh yes, that mud-brown solution which can fill a barathrum and still keep you moving...