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Smoking Poems

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

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

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

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

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

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

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

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

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

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

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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



MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD.








Some sombre evening, when I sit
And feed in solitude at home,
Perchance an ultra-bilious fit
Paints all the world an orange chrome.

When Fear and Care and grim Despair
Flock round me in a ghostly crowd,
One charm dispels them all in air,--
I blow my after-dinner cloud.

'Tis melancholy to devour
The gentle chop in loneliness.
I look on six--my prandial hour--
With dread not easy to express.

And yet for every penance done,
Due compensation seems allow'd.
My penance o'er, its price is won,--
I blow my after-dinner cloud.

My clay is _not_ a Henry Clay,--
I like it better on the whole;
And when I fill it, I can say,
I drown my sorrows in the bowl.

For most I love my lowly pipe
When weary, sad, and leaden-brow'd;
At such a time behold me ripe
To blow my after-dinner cloud.

As gracefully the smoke ascends
In columns from the weed beneath,
My friendly wizard, Fancy, lends
A vivid shape to every wreath.

Strange memories of life or death
Up from the cradle to the shroud,
Come forth as, with enchanter's breath,
I blow my after-dinner cloud.

What wonder if it stills my care
To quit the present for the past,
And summon back the things that were,
Which only thus in vapor last?

What wonder if I envy not
The rich, the giddy, and the proud,
Contented in this quiet spot
To blow my after-dinner cloud?

HENRY S. LEIGH.





Next: THE HAPPY SMOKING-GROUND.

Previous: LATAKIA.



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