O thou who treadest the path of justice and beholdest the countenance of mercy! Thine epistle was received, thy question was noted, and the sweet accents of thy soul were heard from the inmost chambers of thy heart. Whereupon the clouds of th... Read more of 1 at Bahaullah.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

Tobacco.
Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

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

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

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

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

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

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

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

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

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

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

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

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

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



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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