He came, a youth, singing in the dawn Of a new freedom, glowing o'er his lyre, Refining, as with great Apollo's fire, His people's gift of song. And thereupon, This Negro singer, come to Helicon Constrained the masters, listening t... Read more of Paul Laurence Dunbar at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

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

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

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

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

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

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

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

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

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

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

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

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



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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