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Smoking Poems

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

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

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

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

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

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

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

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

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

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

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

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

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

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

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

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

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



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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