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Smoking Poems

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

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

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

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

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

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

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

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

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

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

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

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...



A SYMPHONY IN SMOKE.








A pretty, piquant, pouting pet,
Who likes to muse and take her ease,
She loves to smoke a cigarette;

To dream in silken hammockette,
And sing and swing beneath the trees,
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.

Her Christian name is Violet;
Her eyes are blue as summer skies;
She loves to smoke a cigarette.

As calm as babe in bassinette,
She swingeth in the summer breeze,
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.

She ponders o'er a novelette;
Her parasol is Japanese;
She loves to smoke a cigarette.

She loves a fume without a fret;
Her frills are white, her frock _cerise_,--
A pretty, pouting, piquant pet.

She almost goes to sleep, and yet,
Half-lulled by booming honey-bees,
She loves to smoke a cigarette.

A winsome, clever, cool coquette,
Who flouts all Grundian decrees,--
pretty, pouting, piquant pet,
That loves to smoke a cigarette.

_Harper's Bazaar_.





Next: IT MAY BE WEEDS.

Previous: A BRIEF PUFF OF SMOKE.



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