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Smoking Poems

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

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

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

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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

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

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

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

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

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

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

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

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

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



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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