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Smoking Poems

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

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

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

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

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

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

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

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

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

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

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

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

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

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

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

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



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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