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Smoking Poems

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

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

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

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

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

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

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

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

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

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

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

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

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



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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