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Smoking Poems

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

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

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

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

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

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

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

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

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...


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_.



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