Thus have I made "assurance doubly sure,"
And sealed it twice, that thou shalt reign alone!
And as the dainty bee doth search for pure,
Sweet honey till his laden thighs do groan

With their sweet burden, tasting nothing foul,
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
Who, blushing, waits the happy bridegroom's call!

And these shall be thy food, thy dainty food,
And we together will their luxury share,
Voluptuous tumults stealing through the blood,
Voluptuous visions filling all the air!

I will not thee profane with impious shag,
Nor poison thee with nigger-head and twist,
Nor with Kentucky, though the planters brag
That it hath virtues all the rest have missed.