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Smoking Poems

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

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

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

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

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

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

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

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

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

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

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

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...



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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