I like to see in graceful row
My modest pipes upon the wall,
For there they make a dainty show,
And ever ready at my call.
I praise them with a smoker's drawl
To friends, but when they go away
I put them back, and, free from thrall,
I take the ever-ready clay.
Your meerschaum makes the fancy glow
As up the bowl the colours crawl;
But still there is the inward throe
For fear of blotch or sudden fall.
Your briar can stand an overhaul,
Does yeoman service night or day;
I smoke them both, but after all
I take the ever-ready clay.
It matters not what visions grow
From hookahs, whether short or tall,
Chibouques in bearded lips, and slow,
Soul-soothing whiffs for great and small.
Somehow upon the taste they pall,
Whether from Stamboul or Cathay;
Smoke them who will in Turkish hall,
I take the ever-ready clay.
Envoi

Friends, when the evening fire is low,
When visions have their best display,
Put past your briar and meerschaum—so—
And take the ever-ready clay.