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Smoking Poems

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

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

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

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

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

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

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

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

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

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

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

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

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

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

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...



IN WREATHS OF SMOKE.








In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise,
Faces of olden days uprise,
And in his dreamers revery
They haunt the smoker's brain, and he
Breathes for the past regretful sighs.

Mem'ries of maids, with azure eyes,
In dewy dells, 'neath June's soft skies,
Faces that more he'll only see
In wreaths of smoke.

Eheu, eheu! how fast Time flies,--
How youth-time passion droops and dies,
And all the countless visions flee!
How worn would all those faces be,
Were they not swathed in soft disguise
In wreaths of smoke!

FRANK NEWTON HOLMAN.





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Previous: ANOTHER MATCH.



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