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Smoking Poems

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

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

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

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

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

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

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

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

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

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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

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

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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

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

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



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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