Smoking Poems

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

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

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

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

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

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

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

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

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

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

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...