One afternoon a cup of tea
was offered and given me
by a lady after a daytime dance
in Budapest. Oh! the elegance
and luxury of the salon
excited me that afternoon.

The cup of tea was steaming hot,
poured from a Wedgewood pot.
Its fragrance filled the room.
Carefree I felt that afternoon.

But, suddenly, a sense of waste
changed me then. The pleasant taste
the tea gave me now was bitter.
I knew how senseless the glitter,
how wasteful all the luxury,
how empty all the pot-pourri.

Then it was I saw beyond the sea
those pariahs that picked the tea,
breaking backs in daily chore.
Our demand drives them more!
We want the most, we want the best;
they have no pause, they have no rest.
Theirs is not a thing but pittance.
All stays the same in history
the world still has its slavery!

The peaceful mood of the salon,
like an over-blown balloon,
burst open and the senseless glitter
turned the taste of tea to bitter.

---