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Smoking Poems

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

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

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

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

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

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

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

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

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

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

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

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...



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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