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Smoking Poems

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

My Meerschaum Pipe.
Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe Thy scarred an...

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

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

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

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

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

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

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

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

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

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

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

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

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...



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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