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Smoking Poems

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

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

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

If I Were King.
If I were king, my pipe should be premier. The skies o...

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

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

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

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

Meerschaum.
Come to me, O my meerschaum, For the vile street organ...

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

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

The Latest Convert.
I've been in love some scores of times, With Amy, Ne...

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

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

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

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

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

"keats Took Snuff."
"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the ...

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

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...



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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