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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

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

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

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

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

A Poet's Pipe.

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

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

I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

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

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


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.



Previous: ODE TO MY PIPE.

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