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Smoking Poems

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

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

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

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



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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