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Smoking Poems

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

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

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

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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

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

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

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

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

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

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

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

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...



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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