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Smoking Poems

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

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

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

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

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

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

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

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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

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

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

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

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

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

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...



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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