POETRY OF SMOKE. 59 



BEER. 



[By George Arnold, New Yorb^ 1862.} 



HERE, 



With my beer, 

 I sit, 



While golden moments flit. 

 Alas! 

 They pass 

 Unheeded by 

 And as they fly, I, 

 Being dry, 

 Sit, idly sipping here 

 My beer! 

 Oh, finer far 

 Than fame or riches are 



The graceful smoke wreaths of this free cigar. 

 Why 

 Should I 



Weep, wail, or sigh ? 

 What if Luck has passed me by? 

 What if my hopes are dead, 

 My pleasures fled ; 

 Have I not still 

 My fill 



Of right good cheer- 

 Cigars and beer? 

 Go, whining youth. 

 Forsooth ! 

 Go, weep and wafl. 

 Sigh and grow pale, 



