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Smoking Poems

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

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

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

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

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

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

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

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

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

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

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



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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