IF I WERE KING.

If I were king, my pipe should be premier. 
The skies of time and chance are seldom clear,
We would inform them all, with bland blue weather. 
Delight alone would need to shed a tear,
For dream and deed should war no more together.

Art should aspire, yet ugliness be dear;
Beauty, the shaft, should speed with wit for feather;
And love, sweet love, should never fall to sere,
If I were king.

But politics should find no harbour near;
The Philistine should fear to slip his tether;
Tobacco should be duty free, and beer;
In fact, in room of this, the age of leather,
An age of gold all radiant should appear,
If I were king.

W.E.  HENLEY.

THE PIPE YOU MAKE YOURSELF.

There’s clay pipes an’ briar pipes an’ meerschaum pipes as well,
There’s plain pipes an’ fancy pipes—­things jes made to sell;
But any pipe that kin be bought fer marbles, chalk, or pelf,
Ain’t ekal to the flaver of th’ pipe you make yourself.

  Jest take a common corn cob an’ whittle out the middle,
  Then plug up one end of it as tight as any fiddle;
  Fit a stem into th’ side an’ lay her on th’ shelf,
  An’ when she’s dry you take her down, that pipe you made yourself.

  Cram her full clar to th’ brim with nachral leaf, you bet—­
  ‘T will smoke a trifle better for bein’ somewhat wet—­
  Take your worms and fishin’ pole, and a jug along for health,
  An’ you’ll get a taste o’ heaven from that pipe you made yourself.

  There’s clay pipes an’ briar pipes an’ meerschaum pipes as well,
  There’s plain pipes an’ fancy pipes—­things jes made to sell;
  But any pipe that kin be bought for marbles, chalk, or pelf,
  Ain’t ekal to th’ flayer of the pipe you make yourself.

HENRY E. BROWN.

CHIBOUQUE.

  At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan,
    The pacha in his palace lolls at ease;
    Latakieh fumes his sensual palate please,
  While round-limbed almees dance near his divan.

  Slaves lure away ennui with flowers and fan;
    And as his gem-tipped chibouque glows, he sees,
    In dreamy trance, those marvellous mysteries
  The prophet sings of in the Al-Koran!

  Pale, dusk-eyed girls, with sequin-studded hair,
    Dart through the opal clouds like agile deer,
    With sensuous curves his fancy to provoke,—­
  Delicious houris, ravishing and fair,
    Who to his vague and drowsy mind appear
    Like fragrant phantoms arabesqued in smoke!

FRANCIS S. SALTUS.

IN ROTTEN ROW.

In Rotten Row a cigarette
I sat and smoked, with no regret
For all the tumult that had been. 
The distances were still and green,
And streaked with shadows cool and wet.