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Smoking Poems

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

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

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

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

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

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

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



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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