Praise to Nepente of Oliena of Gabriele d'Annunzio
The shadows of the white cliffs, and choose for your retreat in one of those cells scarpellate boulder the Sardinians call Domos de Janas, for there spugnosamente live in ecstasy between cask and quarteruolo. I do not know if they do not smell; and smell unspeakable, just to inebriate. We were wandering clerics for a wild May of Sardinia, I, Edward Scarfoglio and Cesare Pascarella, or and 'long ago, when we reached the home of Raymond rhymer Congiu full of shepherds and weavers, rich in oil and honey, among hospitable Tomb of the Giants and the Houses of the Fairies. Soon the elders of the people came to meet us on the street as a guest unknown; and everyone wanted to make us the honors of its threshold, to race. Ah, my thirsty Hans Barth, as your nostrils sagacious would palpitate when the red Nepente gushed from the glass with the bubbling that wont trarvi from gullet those "certain loving latches" - speaks our Firenzuola! - You in the heart of some of those Odes purple Hafiz singing wine and pink? It seemed that the very soul dell'Anacreonte Persian emanated from the cup fills, with the color of fire and the smell of a deep rose. Of course, those who drink that wine needs no inghirlandarsi.