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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

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

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

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

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

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

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

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

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...



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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