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Smoking Poems

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

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

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

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

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...

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

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

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

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

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

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

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

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



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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