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Smoking Poems

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

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

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

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

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

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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

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

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

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

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

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

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

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



ODE TO MY PIPE.








O Blessed pipe,
That now I clutch within my gripe,
What joy is in thy smooth, round bowl,
As black as coal!

So sweetly wed
To thy blanched, gradual thread,
Like Desdemona to the Moor,
Thou pleasure's core.

What woman's lip
Could ever give, like thy red tip,
Such unremitting store of bliss,
Or such a kiss?

Oh, let me toy,
Ixion-like, with cloudy joy;
Thy stem with a most gentle slant
I eye askant!

Unseen, unheard,
Thy dreamy nectar is transferred,
The while serenity astride
Thy neck doth ride.

A burly cloud
Doth now thy outward beauties shroud:
And now a film doth upward creep,
Cuddling the cheek.

And now a ring,
A mimic silver quoit, takes wing;
Another and another mount on high,
Then spread and die.

They say in story
That good men have a crown of glory;
O beautiful and good, behold
The crowns unfold!

How did they live?
What pleasure could the Old World give
That ancient miserable lot
When thou wert not?

Oh, woe betide!
My oldest, dearest friend hath died,--
Died in my hand quite unaware,
Oh, Baccy rare!

ANDREW WYNTER.





Next: A PIPE OF TOBACCO.

Previous: THE LAST PIPE.



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