What delicious landscape floating
On perfumed wings I see;
Pale swans I am idly noting,
And queens robed in filagree.
I see such delicious faces
As ne'er man saw before,
And my fancy fondly chases
Sweet maids on a fairy shore.
Now to bits my air-castle crashes,
And those pictures I see no more;
My grandmother yells: "Them ashes--
Don't drop them on the floor!"
R.K. MUNKITTRICK.
WHAT I LIKE.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream,
Upon the grassy bank of some calm stream--
And smoke.
To climb with daring feet some rugged rock,
And sit aloft where gulls and curlews flock--
And smoke.
To wander lonely on the ocean's brink,
And of the good old times to muse and think--
And smoke.
To hide me in some deep and woody glen,
Far from unhealthy haunts of sordid men--
And smoke.
To linger in some fairy haunted vale,
While all about me falls the moonlight pale--
And smoke.
H.L.
MY MEERSCHAUMS.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved,
High carved and plain, dark-hued and creamy,
Slim tubes for cigarettes reserved,
And stout ones for Havanas dreamy.
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