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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

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

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

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

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

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

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

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

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

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

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

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

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

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

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

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



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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