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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

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

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

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

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

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

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

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

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

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

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

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...



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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