It 's as dainty as the essence of the daintiest perfume;
It 's as sweet as are the orchards when the fruit is hanging ripe,
With the sun's warm kiss upon them—is this corn-cob pipe.
Thro' the smoke about it clinging, I delight its form to trace,
Like an oriental beauty with a veil upon her face;
And my room is dim with vapour as a church when censers sway,
As I clasp it to my bosom—in a figurative way.
It consoles me in misfortune and it cheers me in distress,
And it proves a warm partaker of my pleasures in success;
So I hail it as a symbol, friendship's true and worthy type,