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Smoking Poems

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

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

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

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

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

'twas Off The Blue Canaries.
'Twas off the blue Canary isles, A glorious summer d...

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

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

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

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

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...



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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