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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

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

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

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

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

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

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

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



MY LITTLE BROWN PIPE.








I have a little comforter,
I carry in my pocket:
It is not any woman's face
Set in a golden locket;
It is not any kind of purse;
It is not book or letter,
But yet at times I really think
That it is something better.

Oh, my pipe, my little brown pipe!
How oft, at morning early,
When vexed with thoughts of coming toil,
And just a little surly,
I sit with thee till things get clear,
And all my plans grow steady,
And I can face the strife of life
With all my senses steady.

No matter if my temper stands
At stormy, fair, or clearing,
My pipe has not for any mood
A word of angry sneering.
I always find it just the same,
In care, or joy, or sorrow,
And what it is to-day I know
It's sure to be to-morrow.

It helps me through the stress of life;
It balances my losses;
It adds a charm to all my joys,
And lightens all my crosses.
For through the wreathing, misty veil
Joy has a softer splendor,
And life grows sweetly possible,
And love more truly tender.

Oh, I have many richer joys!
I do not underrate them,
And every man knows what I mean,
I do not need to state them.
But this I say,--I'd rather miss
A deal of what's called pleasure,
Than lose my little comforter,
My little smoky treasure.

AMELIA E. BARR.




Forsaken of all comforts but these two,--
My fagot and my pipe--I sit to muse
On all my crosses, and almost excuse
The heavens for dealing with me as they do.
When Hope steps in, and, with a smiling brow,
Such cheerful expectations doth infuse
As makes me think ere long I cannot choose
But be some grandee, whatsoe'er I'm now.
But having spent my pipe, I then perceive
That hopes and dreams are cousins,--both deceive.
Then mark I this conclusion in my mind,
It's all one thing,--both tend into one scope,--
To live upon Tobacco and on Hope:
The one's but smoke, the other is but wind.

SIR ROBERT AYTON.





Next: 'TWAS OFF THE BLUE CANARIES.

Previous: ON RECEIPT OF A RARE PIPE.



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