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Smoking Poems

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

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

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

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

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

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

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

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

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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

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

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

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

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



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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