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Smoking Poems

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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...

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

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

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

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

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

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

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

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

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...



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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