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Smoking Poems

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

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

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

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

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

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

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

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

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

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

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

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

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...



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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