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Smoking Poems

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

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

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

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

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

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

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

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

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

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...



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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