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.
TITLEPAGE DEDICATION.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those who always smoked--now smoke the more."
ACROSTIC.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankered care bring radiant smiles, Best gift of Love to mortals given!
At once the bud and bliss of Heaven!
Crownless are kings uncrowned by thee; Content the serf in thy sweet liberty, O charm of life! O foe to misery!
J.H.
ANOTHER MATCH.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._
If love were dhudeen olden, And I were like the weed, Oh! we would live together And love the jolly weather, And bask in sunshine golden, Rare pals of choicest breed; If love were dhudeen olden, And I were like the weed.
If you were oil essential, And I were nicotine, We'd hatch up wicked treason, And spoil each smoker's reason, Till he grew penitential, And turned a bilious green; If you were oil essential, And I were nicotine.
If you were snuff, my darling, And I, your love, the box.
We'd live and sneeze together, Shut out from all the weather, And anti-snuffers snarling, In neckties orthodox; If you were snuff, my darling, And I, your love, the box.
If you were the aroma, And I were simply smoke, We'd skyward fly together, As light as any feather; And flying high as Homer, His gray old ghost we'd choke; If you were the aroma, And I were simply smoke.
From _Cope's Tobacco Plant_.
IN WREATHS OF SMOKE.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of olden days uprise, And in his dreamers revery They haunt the smoker's brain, and he Breathes for the past regretful sighs.
Mem'ries of maids, with azure eyes, In dewy dells, 'neath June's soft skies, Faces that more he'll only see In wreaths of smoke.
Eheu, eheu! how fast Time flies,-- How youth-time passion droops and dies, And all the countless visions flee!
How worn would all those faces be, Were they not swathed in soft disguise In wreaths of smoke!
FRANK NEWTON HOLMAN.
ASHES.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brier brown, And watch the ashes settle down In lambent flashes; While thro' the blue, thick, curling haze, I strive with feeble eyes to gaze, Upon the half-forgotten days That left but ashes.
Again we wander through the lane, Beneath the elms and out again, Across the rippling fields of grain, Where softly flashes A slender brook 'mid banks of fern, At every sigh my pulses burn, At every thought I slowly turn And find but ashes.
What made my fingers tremble so, As you wrapped skeins of worsted snow, Around them, now with movements slow And now with dashes?
Maybe 'tis smoke that blinds my eyes, Maybe a tear within them lies; But as I puff my pipe there flies A cloud of ashes.
Perhaps you did not understand, How lightly flames of love were fanned.
Ah, every thought and wish I've planned With something clashes!
And yet within my lonely den Over a pipe, away from men, I love to throw aside my pen And stir the ashes.
DE WITT STERRY.
CHOOSING A WIFE BY A PIPE OF TOBACCO.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose a wife.
Tube, thy _color_ let me find, In her _skin_, and in her _mind_.
Let her have a _shape_ as fine; Let her breath be sweet as thine; Let her, when her lips I kiss, _Burn_ like thee, to give me bliss; Let her, in some _smoke_ or other, All my failings kindly smother.