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Smoking Poems

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

My Little Brown Pipe.
I have a little comforter, I carry in my pocket: ...

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

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

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

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

Maecenas Bids His Friend To Dine.
I beg you come to-night and dine. A welcome waits you, a...

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 ...

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

Smoking Song.
With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl, As mist ...

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

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

Knickerbocker.
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knic...

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

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

Seasonable Sweets.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS. When th...

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

To My Meerschaum.
There's a charm in the sun-crested hills, In the qui...



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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