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Smoking Poems

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

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

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

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

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

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

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

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...



ANOTHER MATCH.








_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._


If love were dhudeen olden,
And I were like the weed,
Oh! we would live together
And love the jolly weather,
And bask in sunshine golden,
Rare pals of choicest breed;
If love were dhudeen olden,
And I were like the weed.

If you were oil essential,
And I were nicotine,
We'd hatch up wicked treason,
And spoil each smoker's reason,
Till he grew penitential,
And turned a bilious green;
If you were oil essential,
And I were nicotine.

If you were snuff, my darling,
And I, your love, the box.
We'd live and sneeze together,
Shut out from all the weather,
And anti-snuffers snarling,
In neckties orthodox;
If you were snuff, my darling,
And I, your love, the box.

If you were the aroma,
And I were simply smoke,
We'd skyward fly together,
As light as any feather;
And flying high as Homer,
His gray old ghost we'd choke;
If you were the aroma,
And I were simply smoke.

From _Cope's Tobacco Plant_.





Next: IN WREATHS OF SMOKE.

Previous: ACROSTIC.



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