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Smoking Poems

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

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

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

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

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

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

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

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

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

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

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



CANNON SONG.








And it has turned since you and I
Set out to face the world alone;
And, in a garret near the sky,
Had scarce a crust to call our own,
But many a banquet, Barmecide;
And many a dream of hope divine,
Lie buried in the moaning tide,
That drowns the past, old pipe of mine!

But prosing isn't quite the thing,
And so, I guess, I'll give it up:
Just wait a moment while I sing;
We'll have another parting cup,
And then to bed. The stars are low;
Yon sickly moon has ceased to shine;
So here she goes, and off we go
To Slumberland, old pipe of mine!

JOHN J. GORMLEY.





Next: CANNON SONG.

Previous: OLD PIPE OF MINE.



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