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Smoking Poems

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

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

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

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

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

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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

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

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

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

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

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

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

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

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

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...



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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