Of mild tobacco and lager beer,
Where gutteral curses mingle too
With the croupiers patter of "faites votre jeu?"
"Not there—not there, my child."
"Boy, 'tis a plant that loves to blow
Where the fading rays of the sunset go;
Up where the sun-light never sets,
And angels tootle their flageolets;
Up through the fleecy clouds, and far
Beyond the track of the farthest star,