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Smoking Poems

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

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

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

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

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

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

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

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

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

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

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



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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