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Smoking Poems

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

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

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

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

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

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

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

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

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

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

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

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

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

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


Floating away like the fountains' spray,
Or the snow-white plume of a maiden,
The smoke-wreaths rise to the starlit skies
With blissful fragrance laden.

_Chorus._ Then smoke away till a golden ray
Lights up the dawn of the morrow,
For a cheerful cigar, like a shield, will bar,
The blows of care and sorrow.

The leaf burns bright, like the gems of light
That flash in the braids of Beauty;
It nerves each heart for the hero's part
On the battle-plain of duty.

In the thoughtful gloom of his darkened room,
Sits the child of song and story,
But his heart is light, for his pipe burns bright,
And his dreams are all of glory.

By the blazing fire sits the gray-haired sire,
And infant arras surround him;
And he smiles on all in that quaint old hall,
While the smoke-curls float around him.

In the forest grand of our native land,
When the savage conflict ended,
The "pipe of peace" brought a sweet release
From toil and terror blended.

The dark-eyed train of the maids of Spain
'Neath their arbor shades trip lightly,
And a gleaming cigar, like a new-born star,
In the clasp of their lips burns brightly

It warms the soul like the blushing bowl,
With its rose-red burden streaming,
And drowns it in bliss, like the first warm kiss
From the lips with love-buds teeming.




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