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Smoking Poems

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

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

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

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

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

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

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

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

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

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

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

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

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

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...



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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