Four jolly men sat down to play, And played all night till break of day. They played for cash and not for fun, With a separate score for every one. When it came time to square accounts, they all had made quite fair amounts. Now, not one has los... Read more of Four Jolly Men at Free Jokes.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

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

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

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

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

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

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

Clouds.
Mortals say their heart is light When the clouds aroun...

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

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

To My Cigar.
The warmth of thy glow, Well-lighted cigar, Makes h...

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

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

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

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

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

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

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



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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