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Smoking Poems

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

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

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

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

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

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

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

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

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

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?...

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

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

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

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...



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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