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Smoking Poems

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

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 ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

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

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

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

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

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

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

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



CIGARS AND BEER.








Here
With my beer
I sit,
While golden moments flit.
Alas!
They pass
Unheeded by;
And, as they fly,
I,
Being dry,
Sit idly sipping here
My beer.

Oh, finer far
Than fame or riches are
The graceful smoke-wreaths of this cigar!
Why
Should I
Weep, wail, or sigh?
What if luck has passed me by?
What if my hopes are dead,
My pleasures fled?
Have I not still
My fill
Of right good cheer,--
Cigars and beer?

Go, whining youth,
Forsooth!
Go, weep and wail,
Sigh and grow pale,
Weave melancholy rhymes
On the old times,
Whose joys like shadowy ghosts appear,--
But leave me to my beer!
Gold is dross,
Love is loss;
So, if I gulp my sorrows down,
Or see them drown
In foamy draughts of old nut-brown,
Then do I wear the crown
Without a cross!

GEORGE ARNOLD.





Next: EFFUSION BY A CIGAR SMOKER.

Previous: TO MY CIGAR.



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