TO AN OLD PIPE.
Once your smoothly polished face
Nestled lightly in a case;
'Twas a jolly cosy place,
I surmise;
And a zealous subject blew
On your cheeks, until they grew
To the fascinating hue
Of her eyes.
Near a rusty-hilted sword,
Now upon my mantel-board,
Where my curios are stored,
You recline.
You were pleasant company when
By the scribbling of her pen
I was sent the ways of men
To repine.
Tell me truly (you were there
When she ceased that debonair
Correspondence and affair)
I suppose
That she laughed and smiled all day;
Or did gentle tear-drops stray
Down her charming _retroussee_
Little nose?
Where the sunbeams, coyly still,
Fall upon the mantel-sill,
You perpetually will
Silence woo;
And I fear that she herself,
By the little chubby elf.
Will be laid upon the shelf
Just as you.
DE WITT STERRY.
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