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Smoking Poems

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

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

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

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

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

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

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

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

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

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

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...



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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