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Smoking Poems

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

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

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

Two Other Hearts.
Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manl...

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

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

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

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

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

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

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

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

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

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

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

"a Free Puff."
Do you remember when first we met? I was turning twent...

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

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



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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