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Smoking Poems

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

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

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

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

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

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

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...



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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