ANOTHER MATCH.





_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._





If love were dhudeen olden,

And I were like the weed,

Oh! we would live together

And love the jolly weather,

And bask in sunshine golden,

Rare pals of choicest breed;

If love were dhudeen olden,

And I were like the weed.



If you were oil essential,

And I were nicotine,

We'd hatch up wicked treason,

And spoil each smoker's reason,

Till he grew penitential,

And turned a bilious green;

If you were oil essential,

And I were nicotine.



If you were snuff, my darling,

And I, your love, the box.

We'd live and sneeze together,

Shut out from all the weather,

And anti-snuffers snarling,

In neckties orthodox;

If you were snuff, my darling,

And I, your love, the box.



If you were the aroma,

And I were simply smoke,

We'd skyward fly together,

As light as any feather;

And flying high as Homer,

His gray old ghost we'd choke;

If you were the aroma,

And I were simply smoke.



From _Cope's Tobacco Plant_.





AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE. ASHES. facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

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