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Smoking Poems

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

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

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

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

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

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

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

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

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

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

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

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

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

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

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...



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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