Sonnet to a Cigarette

Leave them their beer;
give me the golden weed.
The fruit of toil beneath Virginia's sun.
The leaf that stinking sweat and labour won
and care has nourished from a tiny seed.
As to the gentle shepherd was his reed
So to my nerves your blue aroma spun
A tune of sweet content, my day's work done.
Leave them their beer, 'tis you, 'tis you I need!
Yet some call you "pernicious nicotine".
They say insidious harm that works unseen
Dwells in that fragrance that delights my heart.
They say you make man's wretched lungs unclean.
All I say is that for myself I'd part.
With damned near all 'ere you went in the cart!

Re-dedicated to JiII de Mornay with much affection.
K.
January 1942.