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Smoking Poems

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

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

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

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

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

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

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

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

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

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

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

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...



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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