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Smoking Poems

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

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

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

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

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

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

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

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

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

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

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

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



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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