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Smoking Poems

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

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

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

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

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

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

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

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

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

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

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

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

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



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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