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Smoking Poems

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

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

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

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

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

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

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

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

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

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

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

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

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

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

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

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



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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