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Smoking Poems

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

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

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

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

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

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

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

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

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

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

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

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

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...



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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