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Smoking Poems

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

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

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

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

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

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

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

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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

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

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

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

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

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

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

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...



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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