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Smoking Poems

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

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

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

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

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

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

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

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

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



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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