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Smoking Poems

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

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

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

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

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

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

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

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

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

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

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

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

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

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

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



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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