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Smoking Poems

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

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

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

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

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

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

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

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

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

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

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

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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

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



CHIBOUQUE.








At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan,
The pacha in his palace lolls at ease;
Latakieh fumes his sensual palate please,
While round-limbed almees dance near his divan.

Slaves lure away _ennui_ with flowers and fan;
And as his gem-tipped chibouque glows, he sees,
In dreamy trance, those marvellous mysteries
The prophet sings of in the Al-Koran!

Pale, dusk-eyed girls, with sequin-studded hair,
Dart through the opal clouds like agile deer,
With sensuous curves his fancy to provoke,--
Delicious houris, ravishing and fair,
Who to his vague and drowsy mind appear
Like fragrant phantoms arabesqued in smoke!

FRANCIS S. SALTUS.





Next: IN ROTTEN ROW.

Previous: THE PIPE YOU MAKE YOURSELF.



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