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Smoking Poems

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

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

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

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

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...



HER BROTHER'S CIGARETTE.








Like raven's wings her locks of jet,
Her soft eyes touched with fond regret,
Doubt and desire her mind beset,
Fondling her brother's cigarette.

Roses with dewy diamonds set,
Drooped o'er the window's parapet;
With grace she turned a match to get,
And lit her brother's cigarette.

Her puffs of smoky violet
Twined in fantastic silhouette;
She blushed, laughed, coughed a little, yet,
She smoked her brother's cigarette.

Her eyes with briny tears were wet,
Her bang grew limp beneath its net,
Her brow was gemmed with beaded sweat,
And to her bed she went, you bet.

ANON.





Next: IN THE OL' TOBACKER PATCH.

Previous: HOW IT ONCE WAS.



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