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Smoking Poems

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

My Cigarette.
_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_. To my sweet ciga...

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

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

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

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

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

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

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

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

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

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

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

On A Broken Pipe.
Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form, So late with ...

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

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

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

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



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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