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Smoking Poems

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

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

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

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

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

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

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

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

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

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

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

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...



A PIPE OF TOBACCO.








Let the learned talk of books,
The glutton of cooks,
The lover of Celia's soft smack--O!
No mortal can boast
So noble a toast
As a pipe of accepted tobacco.

Let the soldier for fame,
And a general's name,
In battle get many a thwack--O!
Let who will have most,
Who will rule the rooste,
Give me but a pipe of tobacco.

Tobacco gives wit
To the dullest old cit,
And makes him of politics crack--O!
The lawyers i' the hall
Were not able to bawl,
Were it not for a whiff of tobacco.

The man whose chief glory
Is telling a story,
Had never arrived at the smack--O!
Between ever heying,
And as I was saying,
Did he not take a whiff of tobacco.

The doctor who places
Much skill in grimaces,
And feels your pulse running tic-tack--O!
Would you know his chief skill?
It is only to fill
And smoke a good pipe of tobacco.

The courtiers alone
To this weed are not prone;
Would you know what 'tis makes them so slack--O?
'Twas because it inclined
To be honest the mind,
And therefore they banished tobacco.





Next: HENRY FIELDING.

Previous: AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE.



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