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Smoking Poems

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

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

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

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

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

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



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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