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Smoking Poems

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

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

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

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

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

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

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

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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

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

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

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

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

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



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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