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Smoking Poems

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

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

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

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

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

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

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...



A WINTER EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE.








Nicotia, dearer to the Muse
Than all the grape's bewildering juice,
We worship, unforbid of thee;
And as her incense floats and curls
In airy spires and wayward whirls,
Or poises on its tremulous stalk
A flower of frailest reverie,
So winds and loiters, idly free,
The current of unguided talk,
Now laughter-rippled, and now caught
In smooth dark pools of deeper thought
Meanwhile thou mellowest every word,
A sweetly unobtrusive third;
For thou hast magic beyond wine
To unlock natures each to each;
The unspoken thought thou canst divine;
Thou fill'st the pauses of the speech
With whispers that to dreamland reach,
And frozen fancy-springs unchain
In Arctic outskirts of the brain.
Sun of all inmost confidences,
To thy rays doth the heart unclose
Its formal calyx of pretences,
That close against rude day's offences,
And open its shy midnight rose!

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.





Next: MY PIPE AND I.

Previous: A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.



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