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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

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

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

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

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

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

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

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

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

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

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

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

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

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

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



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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