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Smoking Poems

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

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

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

The True Leucothoe.
Let others praise the god of wine, Or Venus, love, a...

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

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

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

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

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

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...



THE DUET.








I was smoking a cigarette;
Maud, my wife, and the tenor, McKey,
Were singing together a blithe duet,
And days it were better I should forget
Came suddenly back to me,--
Days when life seemed a gay masque ball,
And to love and be loved was the sum of it all.

As they sang together, the whole scene fled,
The room's rich hangings, the sweet home air,
Stately Maud, with her proud blond head,
And I seemed to see in her place instead
A wealth of blue-black hair,
And a face, ah! your face--yours, Lisette;
A face it were wiser I should forget.

We were back--well, no matter when or where;
But you remember, I know, Lisette.
I saw you, dainty and debonair,
With the very same look that you used to wear
In the days I should forget.
And your lips, as red as the vintage we quaffed,
Were pearl-edged bumpers of wine when you laughed.

Two small slippers with big rosettes
Peeped out under your kilt-skirt there,
While we sat smoking our cigarettes
(Oh, I shall be dust when my heart forgets!)
And singing that self-same air:
And between the verses, for interlude,
I kissed your throat and your shoulders nude.

You were so full of a subtle fire,
You were so warm and so sweet, Lisette;
You were everything men admire;
And there were no fetters to make us tire,
For you were--a pretty grisette.
But you loved as only such natures can,
With a love that makes heaven or hell for a man.

They have ceased singing that old duet,
Stately Maud and the tenor, McKey.
"You are burning your coat with your cigarette,
And _qu'avez vous_, dearest, your lids are wet,"
Maud says, as she leans o'er me.
And I smile, and lie to her, husband-wise,
"Oh, it is nothing but smoke in my eyes."

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.





Next: MY CIGARETTE.

Previous: IN ROTTEN ROW.



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