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Smoking Poems

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

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

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

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

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

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

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

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

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

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

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

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

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

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

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

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...



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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