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Smoking Poems

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

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

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

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

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

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

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

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

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

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

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

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...



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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