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Smoking Poems

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

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

The Smoker's Calendar.
When January's cold appears, A glowing pipe my spirit ...

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

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

My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite, My little sweet, Why do you cry...

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

Choosing A Wife By A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to choose...

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

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

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

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

My Pipe.
When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me; When fr...

My Three Loves.
When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty...

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

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

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

Motto For A Tobacco Jar.
Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid, But woo the...

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



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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