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Smoking Poems

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

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

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

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

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

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

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

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

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

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

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

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

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

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

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

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...



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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