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Smoking Poems

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

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

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

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

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

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

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

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

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...

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

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

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

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...



THE HAPPY SMOKING-GROUND.








When that last pipe is smoked at last
And pouch and pipe put by,
And Smoked and Smoker both alike
In dust and ashes lie,
What of the Smoker? Whither passed?
Ah, will he smoke no more?
And will there be no golden cloud
Upon the golden shore?
Ah! who shall say we cry in vain
To Fate upon his hill,
For, howsoe'er we ask and ask,
He goes on smoking still.
But, surely, 'twere a bitter thing
If other men pursue
Their various earthly joys again
Beyond that distant blue,
If the poor Smoker might not ply
His peaceful passion too.
If Indian braves may still up there
On merry scalpings go,
And buried Britons rise again
With arrow and with bow,
May not the Smoker hope to take
His "cutty" from below?
So let us trust; and when at length
You lay me 'neath the yew,
Forget not, O my friends, I pray,
Pipes and tobacco too!

RICHARD LE GALLIENNE.





Next: SWEET SMOKING PIPE.

Previous: MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD.



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