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Smoking Poems

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

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

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

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

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

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

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

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

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

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...



SONG OF THE SMOKE-WREATHS.








_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._


Not like clouds that cap the mountains,
Not like mists that mask the sea,
Not like vapors round the fountains,--
Soft and clear and warm are we.

Hear the tempest, how its minions
Tear the clouds and heap the snows!
No storm-rage is in our pinions;
Who knows us, 'tis peace he knows.

Soaring from the burning censers,
Stealing forth through all the air,
Hovering as the mild dispensers
Over you of blisses rare,

Softly float we, softly blend we,
Tinted from the deep blue sky,
Scented from the myrrh-lands, bend we
Downward to you ere we die.

Ease we bring, and airy fancies,
Sober thoughts with visions gay,
Peace profound with daring glances
Through the clouds to endless day.

Not like clouds that cap the mountains,
Not like mists that mask the sea,
Not like vapors round the fountains,--
Soft and clear and warm are we.

L.T.A., in _London Society_.





Next: SMOKE AND CHESS.

Previous: THE FARMER'S PIPE.



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