When the year is young, what sweets are flung

By the violets, hiding, dim,

And the lilac that sways her censers high,

Whilst the skylark chants a hymn!

How sweet is the scent of the daffodil bloom,

When blithe spring decks each spray,

And the flowering thorn sheds rare perfume

Through the beautif
l month of May!

What a dainty pet is the mignonette,

Whose sweets wide scattered are!

But sweeter to me than all these yet

Is the scent of a prime cigar!

Delicious airs waft the fields of June,

When the beans are all in flower;

The woodruff is fragrant in the hedge,

And the woodbine in the bower.

Sweet eglantine doth her garlands twine

For the blithe hours as they run,

And balmily sighs the meadow-sweet,

That is all in love with the sun,

Whilst new-mown hay o'er the hedgerows gay

Flings odorous airs afar;

Yet sweeter than these on the passing breeze

Is the scent of a prime cigar.

When all the beauties of Flora's court

Smile on the gay parterre,

What glorious color, what exquisite form,

And dainty scents are there!

They bask in the beam, and bend by the stream,

Like beautiful nymphs at play,

Holding dew-pearls up in each nectar cup

To the glorious God of Day.

Oh, their lives are sweet, but all too brief,

And death doth their sweetness mar;

But fragrance fine is forever thine,

My well-beloved cigar!