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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

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

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

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

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

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

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

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

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

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

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

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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

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

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

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...



MAECENAS BIDS HIS FRIEND TO DINE.








I beg you come to-night and dine.
A welcome waits you, and sound wine,--
The Roederer chilly to a charm,
As Juno's breath the claret warm,
The sherry of an ancient brand.
No Persian pomp, you understand,--
A soup, a fish, two meats, and then
A salad fit for aldermen
(When aldermen, alas the days!
Were really worth their _mayonnaise_);
A dish of grapes whose clusters won
Their bronze in Carolinian sun;
Next, cheese--for you the Neufchatel,
A bit of Cheshire likes me well;
Cafe au lait or coffee black,
With Kirsch or Kuemmel or cognac
(The German band in Irving Place
By this time purple in the face);
Cigars and pipes. These being through,
Friends shall drop in, a very few--
Shakespeare and Milton, and no more.
When these are guests I bolt the door,
With "Not at home" to any one
Excepting Alfred Tennyson.

ANON.





Next: TO MY MEERSCHAUM.

Previous: IN THE OL' TOBACKER PATCH.



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