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Smoking Poems

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

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

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

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

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

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

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

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

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

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

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

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...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

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

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...



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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