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Smoking Poems

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

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

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

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

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

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

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

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

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

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

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

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



MY PIPE AND I.








There may be comrades in this world,
As stanch and true as steel.
There are: and by their friendships firm
Is life made only real.
But, after all, of all these hearts
That close with mine entwine,
None lie so near, nor seem so dear
As this old pipe of mine.

My silent friend--whose voice is held
Fast for my ear alone--
Stays with me always, well content,
With Darby to be Joan.
No fickleness disturbs our lot;
No jars its peace to smother;
Ah, no; my faithful pipe and I
Have wooed and won--each other.

On clouds of curling incense sweet,
We go--my pipe and I--
To lands far off, where skies stay blue
Through all the years that fly.
And nights and days, with rosy dreams
Teems bright--an endless throng
That passing leave, in echoing wake,
Soft murmurings of song.

Does this dream fade? Another comes
To fill its place and more.
In castles silvern roam we now,
They're ours! All! All are ours!
What'er the wreathing rings enfold
Drops shimmering golden showers!

No sordid cost our steps can stay,
We travel free as air.
Our wings are fancies, incense-borne,
That feather-light upbear.
Begone! ye powers of steam and flood.
Thy roads creep far too slow;
We need thee not. My pipe and I
Swifter than Time must go.

Why, what is this? The pipe gone out?
Well, well, the fire's out, too!
The dreams are gone--we're poor once more;
Life's pain begins anew.
'Tis time for sleep, my faithful pipe,
But may thy dreamings be,
Through slumbering hours hued as bright
As those thou gav'st to me!

ELTON J. BUCKLEY.





Next: SIC TRANSIT.

Previous: A WINTER EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE.



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