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Smoking Poems

To An Old Pipe.
Once your smoothly polished face Nestled lightly in a ...

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

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

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

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

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

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

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

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

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

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

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...



THE FARMER'S PIPE.








Make a picture, dreamy smoke,
In my still and cosey room;
From the fading past evoke
Forms that breathe of summer's bloom.

Bashful Will and rosy Nell--
Ah, I watch them now at play
By the mossy wayside well
As I did twelve years to-day.

We were younger then, my pipe:
You are dingy now and worn;
And my fruit is more than ripe,
And my fields are brown and shorn.

Nell has merry eyes of blue,
And is timid, pure, and mild;
Will is fair and brave and true,
And a neighboring farmer's child.

Little maid is busy, too,
Making rare, fictitious pies,
Just as any wife would do,
Looking, meanwhile, wondrous wise.

Drawing water from the well,
Delving sand upon the hill,
Going here and there for Nell,--
That's her helpmate, willing Will.

Yonder, in the waning light,
Hand in hand the truants come,
Nell so fearful lest the night
Should fall around her far from home.

Fading, fading, skyward flies
This joy-picture you have limned;
Pipe of mine, the quiet skies
Of my life you leave undimmed.

Nell and Will are lovers now;
There they stray in dying light.
That's a kiss! Ah, well, somehow
Nell's no more afraid at night!

GEORGE COOPER.





Next: SONG OF THE SMOKE-WREATHS.

Previous: MY PIPE.



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