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Smoking Poems

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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

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

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

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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

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

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

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

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

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

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

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

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

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

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

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...



ASHES.








Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown,
Alone I puff my brier brown,
And watch the ashes settle down
In lambent flashes;
While thro' the blue, thick, curling haze,
I strive with feeble eyes to gaze,
Upon the half-forgotten days
That left but ashes.

Again we wander through the lane,
Beneath the elms and out again,
Across the rippling fields of grain,
Where softly flashes
A slender brook 'mid banks of fern,
At every sigh my pulses burn,
At every thought I slowly turn
And find but ashes.

What made my fingers tremble so,
As you wrapped skeins of worsted snow,
Around them, now with movements slow
And now with dashes?
Maybe 'tis smoke that blinds my eyes,
Maybe a tear within them lies;
But as I puff my pipe there flies
A cloud of ashes.

Perhaps you did not understand,
How lightly flames of love were fanned.
Ah, every thought and wish I've planned
With something clashes!
And yet within my lonely den
Over a pipe, away from men,
I love to throw aside my pen
And stir the ashes.

DE WITT STERRY.





Next: CHOOSING A WIFE BY A PIPE OF TOBACCO.

Previous: IN WREATHS OF SMOKE.



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