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Smoking Poems

What I Like.
To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream, Upon the ...

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

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

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

How It Once Was.
Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood, ...

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

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

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

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

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

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

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

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

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

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

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

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

Another Match.
_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._ If love were dhudeen olden, ...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

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



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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