The prime wine drop,
He fell out of a bowed golden cup,
She fell down the beard of a arrogant king,
To marvel at the beauty of his face,
When she fell so neatly,
In delight with the beauty of the royal robes,
She saw his full figure,
With this view profoundly moved,
In 1 brief moment,
She saw all the large guests,
Monarchs and dignitaries from all over Europe,
Kings and archbishops of dignity,
And large with enthralling,
She saw the full ceremonially dressed room,
bathed in the glow of countless candles,
"And surrounded by a happy mood,
On the suto of set tables,
There was no shortage of the finest dishes,
They bent under the weight of the meat,
And the venison reigned,
Seeing the fine gold crowns,
The blood-red rubies,
She wanted to be 1 of them so badly.
Society of pure gold take,
Seeing the shining royal coats,
The finest fur of all,
Be any of them the smallest Italian,
She dared to dream secretly,
Seeing the large gold bowls,
Delighted by their exultation,
She wanted to take him back,
But it prevented the size of her mica,
Seeing snow-white tablecloths,
She envied their whites,
She wanted any of them to stain,
To stay with him forever,
But the mim moved the king of the eye,
Her time is up,
It was besides small,
For longer than a brief moment,
When she fell on the floor,
And in a flash,
By no 1 noticed,
A short life ended...
He did not immortalize her with his pen the chronicler,
It wasn't on the chronicle,
But she would not be forgotten,
He struck a poem about her by a modest poet...
Feast at the Fan, a painting by Bronisław Abramovich of 1876.
