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Smoking Poems

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

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

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

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

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

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

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

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...



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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