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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

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

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

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

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

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

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

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

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

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

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



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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