POETRY OF SMOKE. t 



THE HAPPY SMOKING 

 GROUND. 



WHEN that last pipe is smoked at last 

 ' And pouch and pipe put by, 

 And smoked and smoker both alike 



In dust and ashes lie, 

 What of the smoker ? Whither passed ? 



Ah, will he smoke no more ? 

 And will there be no golden cloud 



Upon the golden shore ? 

 Ah ! who shall say we cry in vain 



To fate upon his hill, 

 For, howsoe'er we ask and ask, 



He goes on smoking still. 

 But, surely, 'twere a bitter thing 



If other men pursue 

 Their various earthly joys again 



Beyond that distant blue, 

 If the poor smoker might not ply 



His peaceful passion too. 

 If Indian braves may still up there 



On merry seal pings go, 

 And buried Britons rise again 



With arrow and with bow, 

 May not the smoker hope to take 



His "cutty" from below? 

 So let us trust ! and when at length 



You lay me 'neath the yew, 

 Forget not, O my friends, I pray, 



Pipes and tobacco too ! 



RICHARD LE GALLIENNE, 



