@3We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he, from his meerschaum's glossy brown, With a ring of smoke made his king a crown. The cherry stem, with its amber tip, Thoughtfully rested on his lip, As the goblet's rim from which heroes sip. And, looking out through the early green He called on his patron saint, I ween,— That misty maiden, Saint Nicotine@1. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FIVE KERNELS OF CORN [APRIL, 1622] by HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH THE STATESMEN by AMBROSE BIERCE THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: MORNING AND MEETING by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. THE STONE-CUTTER by EDWARD CARPENTER |