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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

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

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

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

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

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

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

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

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

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

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...



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.





Next: ASHES.

Previous: ANOTHER MATCH.



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