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Smoking Poems

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

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

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

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

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

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

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

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

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

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...

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

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

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

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



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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