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Smoking Poems

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

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

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

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



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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