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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

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

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

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



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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