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Smoking Poems

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

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

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...



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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