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Smoking Poems

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

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

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

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

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

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

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

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

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

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...



PIPE AND TOBACCO.








When my pipe burns bright and clear,
The gods I need not envy here;
And as the smoke fades in the wind,
Our fleeting life it brings to mind.

Noble weed! that comforts life,
And art with calmest pleasures rife;
Heaven grant thee sunshine and warm rain,
And to thy planter health and gain.

Through thee, friend of my solitude,
With hope and patience I'm endued,
Deep sinks thy power within my heart,
And cares and sorrows all depart.

Then let non-smokers rail forever;
Shall their hard words true friends dissever?
Pleasure's too rare to cast away
My pipe, for what the railers say!

When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me,
When friends are fled, thy presence charms me;
If thou art full, though purse be bare,
I smoke, and cast away all care!

_German Folk Song._





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