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Smoking Poems

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

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

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

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

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

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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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