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Smoking Poems

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

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

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

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

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

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

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

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

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

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

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

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

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

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

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

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



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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