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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

The Smoke Traveller.
When I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish g...

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

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

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

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

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

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

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

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

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

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



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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