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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

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

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

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

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

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

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

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

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

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



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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