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Smoking Poems

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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

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

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

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

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

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

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

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

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

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

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



AN ENCOMIUM ON TOBACCO.








Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight,
And thus produce so rich a Margarite!
It is the fountain whence all pleasure springs,
A potion for imperial and mighty kings.

He that is master of so rich a store
May laugh at Croesus and esteem him poor;
And with his smoky sceptre in his fist,
Securely flout the toiling alchemist,
Who daily labors with a vain expense
In distillations of the quintessence,
Not knowing that this golden herb alone
Is the philosopher's admired stone.

It is a favor which the gods doth please,
If they do feed on smoke, as Lucian says.
Therefore the cause that the bright sun doth rest
At the low point of the declining west--
When his oft-wearied horses breathless pant--
Is to refresh himself with this sweet plant,
Which wanton Thetis from the west doth bring,
To joy her love after his toilsome ring:
For 'tis a cordial for an inward smart,
As is dictamnum to the wounded hart.
It is the sponge that wipes out all our woe;
'Tis like the thorn that doth on Pelion grow,
With which whoe'er his frosty limbs anoints,
Shall feel no cold in fat or flesh or joints.
'Tis like the river, which whoe'er doth taste
Forgets his present griefs and sorrows past.
Music, which makes grim thoughts retire,
And for a while cease their tormenting fire,--
Music, which forces beasts to stand and gaze,
And fills their senseless spirits with amaze,--
Compared to this is like delicious strings,
Which sound but harshly while Apollo sings.
The train with this infumed, all quarrel ends,
And fiercest foemen turn to faithful friends;
The man that shall this smoky magic prove,
Will need no philtres to obtain his love.

Yet the sweet simple, by misordered use,
Death or some dangerous sickness may produce.
Should we not for our sustentation eat
Because a surfeit comes from too much meat?
So our fair plant--that doth as needful stand
As heaven, or fire, or air, or sea, or land;
As moon, or stars that rule the gloomy night,
Or sacred friendship, or the sunny light--
Her treasured virtue in herself enrolls,
And leaves the evil to vainglorious souls.
And yet, who dies with this celestial breath
Shall live immortal in a joyful death.
All goods, all pleasures it in one can link--
'Tis physic, clothing, music, meat, and drink.

Gods would have revell'd at their feasts of mirth
With this pure distillation of the earth;
The marrow of the world, star of the West,
The pearl whereby this lower orb is blest;
The joy of mortals, umpire of all strife,
Delight of nature, mithridate of life;
The daintiest dish of a delicious feast,
By taking which man differs from a beast.

ANONYMOUS: _Time, James I._





Next: ON A TOBACCO JAR.

Previous: AN ODE OF THANKS FOR CERTAIN CIGARS.



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