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Smoking Poems

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...


Oh, 'tis well and enough,
A whiff or a puff
From the heart of a pipe to get;
And a dainty maid
Or a budding blade
May toy with the cigarette;
But a man, when the time
Of a glorious prime
Dawns forth like a morning star,
Wants the dark-brown bloom
And the sweet perfume
That go with a good cigar.

To lazily float
In a painted boat
On a shimmering morning sea,
Or to flirt with a maid
In the afternoon shade
Seems good enough sport to be;
But the evening hour,
With its subtle power,
Is sweeter and better far,
If joined to the joy,
Devoid of alloy,
That lurks in a good cigar.

When a blanket wet
Is solidly set
O'er hopes prematurely grown;
When ambition is tame,
And energy lame,
And the bloom from the fruit is blown;
When to dance and to dine
With women and wine
Past poverty pleasures are,--
A man's not bereft
Of all peace, if there's left
The joy of a good cigar.


A glass is good, and a lass is good,
And a pipe to smoke in cold weather;
The world is good, and the people are good,
And we're all good fellows together.

JOHN O'KEEFE: _Sprigs of Laurel_, Act ii. sc. i.



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