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Smoking Poems

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

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

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

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

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

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

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

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

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

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

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

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

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

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

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



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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