Pray why are you so bare, so bare, Oh, bough of the old oak-tree; And why, when I go through the shade you throw, Runs a shudder over me? My leaves were green as the best, I trow, And sap ran free in my veins, But I saw in the moonli... Read more of The Haunted Oak at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

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

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

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

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

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

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

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

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



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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