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Smoking Poems

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

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

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

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

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

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

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

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

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

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

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

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

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

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...



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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