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Smoking Poems

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

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

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

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

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

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

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

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

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

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

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

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

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

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

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...



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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