With Pipe and Book at close of day,
Oh, what is sweeter, mortal, say?
It matters not what book on knee,
Old Izaak or the Odyssey,
It matters not meerschaum or clay.

And though one's eyes will dream astray,
And lips forget to sue or sway,
It is 'enough to merely be,'
With Pipe and Book.

What though our modern skies be gray,
As bards aver, I will not pray
For 'soothing Death' to succor me,
But ask this much, O Fate, of thee,
A little longer yet to stay
With Pipe and Book.