He came, a youth, singing in the dawn Of a new freedom, glowing o'er his lyre, Refining, as with great Apollo's fire, His people's gift of song. And thereupon, This Negro singer, come to Helicon Constrained the masters, listening t... Read more of Paul Laurence Dunbar at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

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

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

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

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

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

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

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

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

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

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

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

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

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



SHE.








The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint!
Around my pretty, cherished book,
The odor vile, the noisome taint
Of horrid, stale tobacco-smoke
Yet lingers!
The hateful man, my book to spoil!
Patrick, the tongs--lest I should soil
My fingers!

This lovely rose, these lilies frail,
These violets he has sent to me
The odor of his pipe exhale!
Am I to blame that I should be
Enraged?
Tell Mr. Simpson every time
He calls upon me, Patrick, I'm
Engaged!

ARTHUR LOVELL.





Next: TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON.

Previous: A WARNING.



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