Pipe and Pouch: The Smoker's Own Book of Poetry

by Unknown

IN WREATHS OF SMOKE.

In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise,

Faces of olden days uprise,

And in his dreamers revery

They haunt the smoker's brain, and he

Breathes for the past regretful sighs.

Mem'ries of maids, with azure eyes,

In dewy dells, 'neath June's soft skies,

Faces that more he'll only see

In wreaths of smoke.