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Smoking Poems

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

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

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

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

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

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

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

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...

Geordie To His Tobacco-pipe.
Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend, W...

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

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

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

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

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