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Smoking Poems

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

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

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

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

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

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

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

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

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

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

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

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

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

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

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...



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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