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Smoking Poems

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

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

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

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

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



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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