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Smoking Poems

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

Cannon Song.
Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes, Your richest...

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

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

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

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

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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

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

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

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



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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