Now just for a moment I’ll let the machine,
Grind lyrical praise of the base nicotine.
—An ode of a sort of a commonplace stripe
Addressed to plebeian cut-plug and the pipe.
Oh, answer me now, gentle friends of the line,
Who have sought the blest haunts of the
spruce and the pine,
Have you found in the woods that a fragrant
cigar
Tastes worse than an elm-root slopped over