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.





TO A PIPE OF TOBACCO. TO C.F. BRADFORD. facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

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