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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...



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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