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Smoking Poems

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

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

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

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

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

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

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

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

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

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

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

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

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

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...



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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