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Smoking Poems

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

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

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

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

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

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

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

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

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

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

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...



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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