Did you think of me, Natasha

I

Did you think of me, Natasha,

when I drank champagne

of different tastes, qualities and varieties,

of different ages and strengths

When in the cellars of Voronezh

I greedily remembered you,

with love, Natasha the poetess

Yes and with love too my champagne

Here lies Castal's spring

Nourishing with its fabled stream;

Poetry here is a tame thing

Just give five francs and drink, and sing!

II