Thou, who when fears attack <br />Bidst them avaunt, and Black <br />Care, at the horseman's back <br />Perching, unseatest; <br />Sweet when the morn is gray; <br />Sweet when they've cleared away <br />Lunch; and at close of day <br />Possibly sweetest! <br /> <br />I have a liking old <br />For thee, though manifold <br />Stories, I know, are told <br />Not to thy credit: <br />How one (or two at most) <br />Drops make a cat a ghost,— <br />Useless, except to roast— <br />Doctors have said it; <br /> <br />How they who use fusees <br />All grow by slow degrees <br />Brainless as chimpanzees, <br />Meagre as lizards, <br />Go mad, and beat their wives, <br />Plunge (after shocking lives) <br />Razors and carving-knives <br />Into their gizzards. <br /> <br />Confound such knavish tricks! <br />Yet know I five or six <br />Smokers who freely mix <br />Still with their neighbors,— <br />Jones, who, I'm glad to say, <br />Asked leave of Mrs. J., <br />Daily absorbs a clay <br />After his labors. <br /> <br />Cats may have had their goose <br />Cooked by tobacco juice; <br />Still, why deny its use <br />Thoughtfully taken? <br />We're not as tabbies are; <br />Smith, take a fresh cigar! <br />Jones, the tobacco jar! <br />Here's to thee, Bacon!<br /><br />Charles Stuart Calverley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ode-to-tobacco/
