Others their nectar from the goblet sip;
I draw sweet solace from thine amber lip.
“A feast of reason and a flow of soul”
Lurk in the perfumed vapors of thy bowl.
Some scoff, and say I err from nature's rules —
Tobacco's poison; but, friend, some are fools.
If times are hard, no comrade like to thee;
If prosperous, thou'rt the priest of jollity.
Browned in my service, silver-rimmed through age,
Thy smouldering fire, reflection's heritage;
When the day comes, old friend, and I'm dead broke,
Then just one puff — we'll both go up in smoke.