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Smoking Poems

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

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

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

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...

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

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

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

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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

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

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

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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



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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