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Smoking Poems

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

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

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

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

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

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

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

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

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

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

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

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

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

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

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...



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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