To My Meerschaum

P. D. R., in “Acta Columbiana”

THERE’S a charm in the sun-crested hills,

In the quivering light of a star,

In the plash of a silvery rill,

Yet to me thou art lovelier far,

My meerschaum!

There’s a love in her witching dark eye,

There’s a love in her tresses at play,

Yet her love would be worth not a sigh,

If from thee she could call me away,

My meerschaum!

Let revelers sing of their wine,

As they toss it in ecstasy down,

But the bowl I call for is thine,

With its deepening amber and brown,

My meerschaum!

For when trouble would bid me despair,

I call for a flagon of beer,

And puff a defiance to care,

Till sorrows in smoke disappear,

O meerschaum!

Though ’mid pleasures unnumbered I whirl,

Though I traverse the billowy sea,

Yet the waving and beautiful curl

Of thy smoke’s ever dearer to me,

My meerschaum!