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Smoking Poems

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

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

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

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

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

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

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

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

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

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

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

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

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

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

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

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

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



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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