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Smoking Poems

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

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

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

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

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

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

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

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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

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

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

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

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

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

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



SEASONABLE SWEETS.








"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS.


When the year is young, what sweets are flung
By the violets, hiding, dim,
And the lilac that sways her censers high,
Whilst the skylark chants a hymn!
How sweet is the scent of the daffodil bloom,
When blithe spring decks each spray,
And the flowering thorn sheds rare perfume
Through the beautiful month of May!
What a dainty pet is the mignonette,
Whose sweets wide scattered are!
But sweeter to me than all these yet
Is the scent of a prime cigar!

Delicious airs waft the fields of June,
When the beans are all in flower;
The woodruff is fragrant in the hedge,
And the woodbine in the bower.
Sweet eglantine doth her garlands twine
For the blithe hours as they run,
And balmily sighs the meadow-sweet,
That is all in love with the sun,
Whilst new-mown hay o'er the hedgerows gay
Flings odorous airs afar;
Yet sweeter than these on the passing breeze
Is the scent of a prime cigar.

When all the beauties of Flora's court
Smile on the gay parterre,
What glorious color, what exquisite form,
And dainty scents are there!
They bask in the beam, and bend by the stream,
Like beautiful nymphs at play,
Holding dew-pearls up in each nectar cup
To the glorious God of Day.
Oh, their lives are sweet, but all too brief,
And death doth their sweetness mar;
But fragrance fine is forever thine,
My well-beloved cigar!

C.





Next: GEORDIE TO HIS TOBACCO-PIPE.

Previous: IT MAY BE WEEDS.



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