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Smoking Poems

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

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

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

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

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

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

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

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

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

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

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

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

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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