Pray why are you so bare, so bare, Oh, bough of the old oak-tree; And why, when I go through the shade you throw, Runs a shudder over me? My leaves were green as the best, I trow, And sap ran free in my veins, But I saw in the moonli... Read more of The Haunted Oak at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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

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

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

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

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

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

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

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

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

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

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...



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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