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Smoking Poems

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

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

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

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

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

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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

Epitaph
_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OV...

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

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

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

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

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

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

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

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...



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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