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Smoking Poems

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

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

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

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

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...



MY MEERSCHAUMS.








Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved,
High carved and plain, dark-hued and creamy,
Slim tubes for cigarettes reserved,
And stout ones for Havanas dreamy.

This cricket, on an amber spear
Impaled, recalls that golden weather
When love and I, too young to fear
Heartburn, smoked cigarettes together.

And even now--too old to take
The little papered shams for flavor--
I light it oft for her sweet sake
Who gave it, with her girlish favor.

And here's the mighty student bowl
Whose tutoring in and after college
Has led me nearer wisdom's goal
Than all I learned of text-book knowledge.

"It taught me?" Ay, to hold my tongue,
To keep a-light, and yet burn slowly,
To break ill spells around me flung
As with the enchanted whiff of Moly.

This nargileh, whose hue betrays
Perique from soft Louisiana,
In Egypt once beguiled the days
Of Tewfik's dreamy-eyed Sultana.

Speaking of color,--do you know
A maid with eyes as darkly splendid
As are the hues that, rich and slow,
On this Hungarian bowl have blended?

Can artist paint the fiery glints
Of this quaint finger here beside it,
With amber nail,--the lustrous tints,
A thousand Partagas have dyed it?

"And this old silver patched affair?"
Well, sir, that meerschaum has its reasons
For showing marks of time and wear;
For in its smoke through fifty seasons

My grandsire blew his cares away!
And then, when done with life's sojourning,
At seventy-five dropped dead one day,
That pipe between his set teeth burning!

"Killed him?" No doubt! it's apt to kill
In fifty year's incessant using--
Some twenty pipes a day. And still,
On that ripe, well-filled, lifetime musing,

I envy oft so bright a part,--
To live as long as life's a treasure;
To die of--not an aching heart,
But--half a century of pleasure!

Well, well! I'm boring you, no doubt;
How these old memories will undo one--
I see you've let your weed go out;
That's wrong! Here, light yourself a new one!

CHARLES F. LUMMIS.





Next: ODE TO TOBACCO.

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