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Smoking Poems

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

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

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

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

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

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

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

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

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

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

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

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

Virginia Tobacco.
Two maiden dames of sixty-two Together long had dwel...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

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


When verdant youth sees life afar,
And first sets out wild oats to sow,
He puffs a stiff and stark cigar,
And quaffs champagne of Mumm & Co.
He likes not smoking yet; but though
Tobacco makes him sick indeed,
Cigars and wine he can't forego,--
A slave is each man to the weed.

In time his tastes more dainty are
And delicate. Become a beau,
From out the country of the czar
He brings his cigarettes, and lo!
He sips the vintage of Bordeaux.
Thus keener relish shall succeed
The baser liking we outgrow,--
A slave is each man to the weed

When age and his own lucky star
To him perfected wisdom show,
The schooner glides across the bar,
And beer for him shall freely flow;
A pipe with genial warmth shall glow,
To which he turns in direst need,
To seek in smoke surcease of woe,--
A slave is each man to the weed.

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