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Smoking Poems

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

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

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

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

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

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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

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

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

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



MY CIGAR.








In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy,
And for every little pleasure has some pathologic bogy,
Who will bear with no small vices, and grows dismally prophetic
If I wander from the weary way of virtue dietetic;

In spite of dire forewarnings that my brains will all be scattered,
My memory extinguished, and my nervous system shattered,
That my hand will take to trembling, and my heart begin to flutter,
My digestion turn a rebel to my very bread and butter;

As I puff this mild Havana, and its ashes slowly lengthen,
I feel my courage gather and my resolution strengthen:
I will smoke, and I will praise you, my cigar, and I will light you
With tobacco-phobic pamphlets by the learned prigs who fight you!

Let him who has a mistress to her eyebrow write a sonnet,
Let the lover of a lily pen a languid ode upon it;
In such sentimental subjects I'm a Philistine and cynic,
And prefer the inspiration drawn from sources nicotinic.

So I sing of you, dear product of (I trust you are) Havana,
And if there's any question as to how my verses scan, a
Reason is my shyness in the Muses' aid invoking,
As, like other ancient maidens, they perchance object to smoking.

I have learnt with you the wisdom of contemplative quiescence,
While the world is in a ferment of unmeaning effervescence,
That its jar and rush and riot bring no good one-half so sterling
As your fleecy clouds of fragrance that are now about me curling.

So, let stocks go up or downward, and let politicians wrangle,
Let the parsons and philosophers grope in a wordy tangle,
Let those who want them scramble for their dignities or dollars,
Be millionnaires or magnates, or senators or scholars.

I will puff my mild Havana, and I quietly will query,
Whether, when the strife is over, and the combatants are weary,
Their gains will be more brilliant than its faint expiring flashes,
Or more solid than this panful of its dead and sober ashes.

ARTHUR W. GUNDRY.





Next: TO C.F. BRADFORD.

Previous: A POET'S PIPE.



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