In the year 1680, at Lumley, a hamlet near Chester-le-Street in the county of Durham, there lived one Walker, a man well to do in the world, and a widower. A young relation of his, whose name was Anne Walker, kept his house, to the great s... Read more of Anne Walker at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...

To The Tobacco Pipe.
Dear piece of fascinating clay! 'Tis thine to smooth l...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

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

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

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

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

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



THE BALLAD OF THE PIPE.








Oh, give me but Virginia's weed,
An earthen bowl, a stem of reed,
What care I for the weather?
Though winter freeze and summer broil
We rest us from our days of toil
My Pipe and I together!

Like to a priest of sacred fane,
I nightly light the glow again
With reverence and pleasure;
For through this plain and modest bowl
I coax sweet mem'ry to my soul
And many trippings measure!

There's comfort in each puff of smoke,
Defiance to ill-fortune's stroke
And happiness forever!
There grows a volume full of thought
And humor, than the book you bought
Holds nothing half so clever!

The summer fragrance, all pent up
Among the leaves, is here sent up
In dreams of summer glory;
And these blue clouds that slowly rise
Were colored by the summer skies,
And tell a summer story.

And oh! the happiest, sweetest times
Come ringing all their silver chimes
Of merry songs and laughter;
And all that may be well and worth
For Mother Future to bring forth
I do imagine after.

What care I if my poor means
Clad not my walls with splendid scenes
And pictures by the masters;
Here in the curling smoke-wreath glow
Bold hills and lovely vales below,
And brooks with nodding asters.

All that on earth is fair and fine,
This fragrant magic makes it mine,
And gives me sole dominion;
And if you call me fanciful,
I only take a stronger pull,
And laugh at your opinion.

Let others fret and fume with care,
'Tis easy finding everywhere,
But happiness is rarer;
And if I find it sweet and ripe,
In this tobacco and my pipe,
I'll count it all the fairer.

Then give me but Virginia's weed,
An earthen bowl, a stem of reed,
What care I for the weather?
Though winter freeze, or summer broil
We rest us from the days of toil,
My Pipe and I together.

HERMANN RAVE.





Next: THE OLD CLAY PIPE.

Previous: "KEATS TOOK SNUFF."



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