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Smoking Poems

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

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

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

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

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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

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

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

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

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

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

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

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

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

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

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

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

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



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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