A T O A S TIllustration 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 agoI see in the shadows that come and go;And the long-lost love of my boyhood seemsTo be kissed into life by my Pipe-o’-dreams.
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 agoI see in the shadows that come and go;And the long-lost love of my boyhood seemsTo be kissed into life by my Pipe-o’-dreams.
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 agoI see in the shadows that come and go;And the long-lost love of my boyhood seemsTo be kissed into life by my Pipe-o’-dreams.
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.