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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

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

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

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

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

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

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

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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

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



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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