TOBACCO LEAVES 



And yet, for every penance done, 

 Due compensation seems allowed. 



My penance o'er, its price is won; 

 I blow my after-dinner cloud. 



My clay is not a Henry Clay . 



I like it better, on the whole; 

 And when I fill it, I can say 



I drown my sorrows in the bowl. 

 For most I love my lowly pipe 



When weary, sad, and leaden-browed; 

 At such a time behold me ripe 



To blow my after-dinner cloud. 



As gracefully the smoke ascends 



In columns from the weed beneath, 

 My friendly wizard, Fancy, lends 



A vivid shape to every wreath. 

 Strange memories of life or death, 



Up from the cradle to the shroud, 

 Come forth as, with enchanter's breath, 



I blow my after-dinner cloud. 



49 



