The Ballade of Tobacco
When verdant youth sees life afar,
And first sets out wild oats to sow,
He puffs a stiff and stark cigar,
And quaffs champagne of Mumm & Co.
He likes not smoking yet; but though
Tobacco makes him sick indeed,
Cigars and wine he can’t forego,—
A slave is each man to the weed.
In time his tastes more dainty are
And delicate. Become a beau,
From out the country of the czar
He brings his cigarettes, and lo!
He sips the vintage of Bordeaux.
Thus keener relish shall succeed
The baser liking we outgrow,—
A slave is each man to the weed
When age and his own lucky star
To him perfected wisdom show,
The schooner glides across the bar,
And beer for him shall freely flow;
A pipe with genial warmth shall glow,
To which he turns in direst need,
To seek in smoke surcease of woe,—
A slave is each man to the weed.
Envoi
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro,
And ye who dare to drink, take heed!
And see in smoke a friendly foe,—
A slave is each man to the weed.
BRANDER MATTHEWS.