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Smoking Poems

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

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

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

A Loss.
How hard a thing it is to part From those we love an...

Virginia's Kingly Plant.
_BY AN "OLD SALT."_ Oh, muse! grant me the power (I...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

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

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

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

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

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

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

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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

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

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...

Sweet Smoking Pipe.
Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion ...

My Meerschaums.
Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High...



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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