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Smoking Poems

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

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...

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

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

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

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

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

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

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

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

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

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

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

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



SMOKING AWAY.








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.

FRANCIS MILES FINCH.





Next: A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.

Previous: SUBLIME TOBACCO.



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