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Smoking Poems

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

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

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

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

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

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

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

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

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

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

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

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

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

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



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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