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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

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

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

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

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

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

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...



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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