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Smoking Poems

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

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

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

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

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

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

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...



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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