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Smoking Poems

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...



SMOKE AND CHESS.








We were sitting at chess as the sun went down;
And he, from his meerschaum's glossy brown,
With a ring of smoke made his king a crown.

The cherry stem, with its amber tip,
Thoughtfully rested on his lip,
As the goblet's rim from which heroes sip.

And, looking out through the early green,
He called on his patron saint, I ween,--
That misty maiden, Saint Nicotine,--

While ever rested that crown so fair,
Poised in the warm and pulseless air,
On the carven chessman's ivory hair.

Dreamily wandered the game along,
Quietly moving at even-song,
While the striving kings stood firm and strong,

Until that one which of late was crowned
Flinched from a knight's determined bound,
And in sullen majesty left the ground,

Reeling back; and it came to pass
That, waiting to mutter no funeral mass,
A bishop had dealt him the _coup de grace_.

And so, as we sat, we reasoned still
Of fate and of fortune, of human will,
And what are the purposes men fulfil.

For we see at last, when the truth arrives,
The moves on the chess-board of our lives,--
That fields may be lost, though the king survives.

Not always he whom the world reveres
Merits its honor or wins its cheers,
Standing the best at the end of the years.

Not always he who has lost the fight
Rises again with the coming light,
Battles anew for his ancient right.

SAMUEL W. DUFFIELD.





Next: INSCRIPTION FOR A TOBACCO JAR.

Previous: SONG OF THE SMOKE-WREATHS.



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