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Smoking Poems

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

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

The Smoker's Reverie.
(_OCTOBER._) I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beeche...

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

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

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

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

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

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

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

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

It May Be Weeds.
It may be weeds I've gathered too; But even weeds...

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

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

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...



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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