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Smoking Poems

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

Cannon Song.
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face th...

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

Edifying Reflections Of A Tobacco-smoker.
_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANS...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...

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

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

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

Smoking Away.
Floating away like the fountains' spray, Or the snow...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

A Valentine.
What's my love's name? Guess her name. Nina? No....

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



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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