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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

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

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

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

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

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

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

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...



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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