So thou of best tobacco shalt be filled;
And when the starry midnight wakes the owl,
And the lorn nightingale her song has trilled,
I, with my lamp and books, as is my wont,
Will give thee of the choicest of all climes,—
Black Cavendish, full-flavored, full of juice,
Pale Turkish, famed through all the Osman times,
Dark Latakia, Syrian, Persia's pride,
And sweet Virginian, sweeter than them all!
Oh, rich bouquet of plants! fit for a bride