A Bachelor’s Soliloquy
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire,
I ne’er knew the Benedict’s yoke;
I worship a fairy-like, fanciful form,
That goes up the chimney in smoke.
I sit in my dressing-gowned slipperful ease,
Without wife or bairns to provoke,
And puff at my pipe, while my hopes and my fears
All go up the chimney in smoke.
I sit with my pipe, and my heart’s lonesome care
I try, but all vainly, to choke.
Ah, me! but I find that the flame that Love lights
Won’t go up the chimney in smoke.
Cigar and Tobacco World, London.