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Smoking Poems

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

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

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

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

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

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

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

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

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

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

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

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

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

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

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



INGIN SUMMER.








Jest about the time when Fall
Gits to rattlin' in the trees,
An' the man thet knows it all,
'Spicions frost in every breeze,
When a person tells hisse'f
Thet the leaves look mighty thin,
Then thar blows a meller breaf!
Ingin summer's hyere agin.

Kind-uh smoky-lookin' blues
Spins acrost the mountain-side,
An' the heavy mornin' dews
Greens the grass up far an' wide,
Natur' raly 'pears as ef
She wuz layin' off a day,--
Sort-uh drorin in her breaf
'Fore she freezes up to stay.

Nary lick o' work I strike,
'Long about this time of year!
I'm a sort-uh slowly like,
Right when Ingin summer's here.
Wife and boys kin do the work;
But a man with natchel wit,
Like I got, kin 'ford to shirk,
Ef he has a turn for it.

Time when grapes set in to ripe,
All I ast off any man
Is a common co'n-cob pipe
With terbacker to my han';
Then jest loose me whar the air
Simmers 'crost me, wahm an' free!
Promised lands ull find me thar;
Wings ull fahly sprout on me!

I'm a loungin' 'round on thrones,
Bossin' worlds f'om shore to shore,
When I stretch my marrer-bones
Jest outside the cabin door!
An' the sunshine peepin' down
On my old head, bald an' gray,
'Pears right like the gilted crown,
I expect to w'ar some day.

EVA WILDER MCGLASSON.





Next: EDIFYING REFLECTIONS OF A TOBACCO-SMOKER.

Previous: TO SEE HER PIPE AWRY.



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