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Smoking Poems

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

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

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

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

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

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

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

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

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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

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

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

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

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

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

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



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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