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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

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...

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

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

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

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

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

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

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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



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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