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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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

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

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

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

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

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

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

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

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

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

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

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



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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