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Smoking Poems

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

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

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

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

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

To C.f. Bradford.
_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._ The pipe came safe...

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

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

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

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

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

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

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

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

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

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

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



SUBLIME TOBACCO.








But here the herald of the self-same mouth
Came breathing o'er the aromatic South,
Not like a "bed of violets" on the gale,
But such as wafts its cloud o'er grog or ale,
Borne from a short, frail pipe, which yet had blown
Its gentle odors over either zone,
And, puff'd where'er minds rise or waters roll,
Had wafted smoke from Portsmouth to the Pole,
Opposed its vapor as the lightning flash'd,
And reek'd, 'midst mountain billows unabashed,
To AEolus a constant sacrifice,
Through every change of all the varying skies.
And what was he who bore it? I may err,
But deem him sailor or philosopher.
Sublime tobacco! which from east to west
Cheers the tar's labor or the Turkman's rest;
Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides
His hours, and rivals opiums and his brides;
Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand,
Though not less loved, in Wapping on the Strand;
Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe,
When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe;
Like other charmers, wooing the caress
More dazzlingly when daring in full dress;
Yet thy true lovers more admire by far
Thy naked beauties,--give me a cigar!

LORD BYRON:

_The Island, Canto ii., Stanza 19._





Next: SMOKING AWAY.

Previous: THE DREAMER'S PIPE.



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