ODE TO TOBACCO.
THOU who, when fears attack
Bidst them avaunt, and Black
Care, at the horseman's back,
Perching, unseatest;
Sweet when the morn is grey;
Sweet when they've cleared away
Lunch, and at close of day
Possibly sweetest.
I have a liking old
For thee, though manifold
Stories, I know are told,
Not to thy credit.
* * * *
Cats may have had their goose
Cooked by tobacco juice;
Still why deny its use
Thoughtfully taken?
We're not as tabbies are:
Smith take a fresh cigar!
Jones, the tobacco jar!
Here's to thee, Bacon!
From C. S. Calverley's Verses and Translations (George Bell and Sons).