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Smoking Poems

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

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

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

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

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

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

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

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

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

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

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

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

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

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

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

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

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

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



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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