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Smoking Poems

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

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

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

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

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

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

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

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

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

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

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

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

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

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

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...



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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