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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

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

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

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

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

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

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

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

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

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



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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