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Smoking Poems

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

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

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

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

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

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

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

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

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

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

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

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

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...



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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