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Smoking Poems

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

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

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...



A PIPE OF TOBACCO.








Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale,
Or with alcohol moisten his thrapple,
Only give me, I pray, a good pipe of soft clay,
Nicely tapered and thin in the stapple;
And I shall puff, puff, let who will say, "Enough!"
No luxury else I'm in lack o',
No malice I hoard 'gainst queen, prince, duke, or lord,
While I pull at my pipe of tobacco.

When I feel the hot strife of the battle of life,
And the prospect is aught but enticin',
Mayhap some real ill, like a protested bill,
Dims the sunshine that tinged the horizon:
Only let me puff, puff,--be they ever so rough,
All the sorrows of life I lose track o',
The mists disappear, and the vista is clear,
With a soothing mild pipe of tobacco.

And when joy after pain, like the sun after rain,
Stills the waters, long turbid and troubled,
That life's current may flow with a ruddier glow,
And the sense of enjoyment be doubled,--
Oh! let me puff, puff, till I feel _quantum suff._,
Such luxury still I'm in lack o';
Be joy ever so sweet, it would be incomplete,
Without a good pipe of tobacco.

Should my recreant muse--sometimes apt to refuse
The guidance of bit and of bridle--
Still blankly demur, spite of whip and spur,
Unimpassioned, inconstant, or idle;
Only let me puff, puff, till the brain cries, "Enough!"
Such excitement is all I'm in lack o',
And the poetic vein soon to fancy gives rein,
Inspired by a pipe of tobacco.

And when, with one accord, round the jovial board,
In friendship our bosoms are glowing,
While with toast and with song we the evening prolong,
And with nectar the goblets are flowing;
Still let us puff, puff,--be life smooth, be it rough,
Such enjoyment we're ever in lack o';
The more peace and good-will will abound as we fill
A jolly good pipe of tobacco.

JOHN USHER.





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