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Smoking Poems

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

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

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

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

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

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

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

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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

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

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch 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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