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Smoking Poems

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

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

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

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

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

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

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

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

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

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

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

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

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

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

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

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

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



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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