_Illustration by Krieghoff._
I drink to the Pipe, which, at eventide,
Is dearer to me than a blushing bride.
As its perfumed clouds float on the air,
They curl into myriad visions rare:
Pictures of comrades of long ago
I see in the shadows that come and go;
And the long-lost love of my boyhood seems
To be kissed into life by my Pipe-o’-dreams.